


Life in Beacon Hills

by ract46



Series: Pack Master [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ABDL, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, BDSM, M/M, alpha!Derek, dom!stiles, fae!Stiles, non-canon, pet!Matt, slave!Aiden, sub!Isaac, sub!Jackson, sub!Scott, sub!ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ract46/pseuds/ract46
Summary: With Stiles now King of the Sith Court of Beacon Hills, just what is life like for him and the pack as they gain independence from the United States and raise their seventeen children...This story follows on fromSith of Beacon Hills.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own.  

> 
>   
  

> 
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Nathan scrubs his hand over his face and combs his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it into something that looks less like he has been dragged through The Hedge backwards. His mom had told him in no uncertain terms, “Herschel Nathan Aaron Greenberg it is an honour to be chosen by the Goddess like this. Your Grandmother is so proud of you.”

And it’s true, his bubbe is very proud, if a little confused. Hell, he is a little confused himself. Only the female members of his family, like his grandma and her grandma and her grandma, have ever been known to be Seers; they are the ones that the fae genes have been active in. The fae side has always been dormant in the males in the family. His mom has some gift of premonition, like knowing that it’s gonna rain even though the weather forecast says clear blue sunny skies, but the power his bubbe has, the sight, should have gone to his sister; except he doesn’t have one. And didn’t that lead to a revelation.

Turns out when his mom was pregnant with him, she was expecting twins. Only something happened and the twin sister he would have had didn’t make it. Her cells were ‘absorbed’ into him, making him both him and his sister.

But at least he isn’t going crazy like he first thought. Back when the dreams involving Stiles, and his pack of werewolves, started.

Not that Nathan had realised that they were werewolves, or that Stiles was Fae, or even Sidhe, let alone that he was a Viscount of the Unseelie Court; though he renounced that claim apparently, given that he is now King Tighearnach of the Sith Court of Beacon Hills. And while Nathan’s Fae heritage is stronger in him than any of recent relations, he’s nothing as lofty as Sidhe.

No, he’s only half-human, despite his parents both being more than three-quarter’s human.

His mom is one-eighth boggan as both her parents are. His dad is at most quarter satyr. And somehow, probably related to ‘cannibalising’ his twin in the womb, Nathan is quarter boggan and quarter satyr. Something he’s worked very hard to hide from society; trying to remain unnoticed and in the background. Especially at school. It’s not like he could openly state he was part fae anyway; the general public didn’t know about the non-human races. And his mom’s family are part fae from the Seelie Court, while his dad’s family are from the Unseelie Court. If anyone found out The Accords would have split the family apart, and neither Court would really have accepted him.

But the dreams started. Though that was after he walked in on them, Stiles and his werewolf pack, having an orgy in the bathroom. And didn’t that just pull at his self-control. He’s part-satyr for Goddess’s sake, and his father’s Fae blood comes from the Unseelie Court. Goddess, his infatuation with ‘Jackie’; though he knows better now and given that Jackson is one of the King’s mates that infatuation is **_a lot_** more under control.

Then after Aiden got that tattoo, proclaiming himself Stiles’ slave, the dreams become more bacchanalian in nature, followed by the dream where writing appeared flowing over his body and he woke in Coach’s economics class shouting in a language he didn’t even know.

Why wouldn’t he have thought he was going crazy. Nothing of this sounded like what his bubbe’s gift of the sight was like. It was certainly nothing like the intuitive foresight his mom displayed from time to time.

Then the supernatural world jumped out of the shadows and started showing the mundane world that “we’re all around you”. And the dreaming got worse; enough that he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t hide it from his parents. Luckily their family doctor was one that knew about the fae-blood they all carried, being part-fae herself, and after some tests declared that he wasn’t going crazy. The dreams were emergence of the sight as more of his fae DNA had become active. When he pointed out that only the female line of his family had the gift is when he found out about his twin that was never born.

And that he was born hermaphrodite and to fit in to mundane society his parents had elected to have surgery to make him male. The faded scars he believed were from having his appendix removed are actually from the removal of his “possibly not even functional” womb and ovaries. While he looks male, if you don’t pay his chest close inspection, he is actually non-binary. The flabby pecs he thought he had, are his breasts. So, he’s a ginger haired, non-binary, non-human, bisexual, social non-entity, that has somehow been chosen by the Goddess. 

His parents better hope his balls are in working order because otherwise, having removed his other, ‘possibly non-functioning’, reproductive organs, he may end up being the last Seer in the family.

With the supernatural out in the open, and the new Accords signed, Stiles and the pack were forced out into the limelight. And having claimed the land that the town is built on, as it was owned by the werewolf pack, Beacon Hills became an independent sovereign state and the Goddess bestowed a crown on Stiles’ head; creating the Sith Court of Beacon Hills.

Every fae-blooded being in the county felt the change; somewhere they could belong.

But, it’s not the only change happening. The dreams haven’t stopped, he needs help. He needs someone to show him how to control this power.

He runs his hands over his face again, up over his brow, remembering to avoid the points on his forehead where his satyr horns are starting to form; he doesn’t want to break the skin again, they need to emerge naturally. Goddess he isn’t gonna be able to hide them when he starts senior year in a few weeks. 

The doorbell rings and he can hear his mom answer the door. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he stands and turns to the door.

“My favourite aynikl,” the woman standing in the hall calls to him, “Come, give your bubbe a kiss.”

“Hi grandma,” he grins at her as he walks over, and hugging he gives a kiss to her cheek.

“Now,” she pulls back to look at him, “What’s all this narishkeyt about you not having control of your Goddess given gift?”

  
  


The young beta stretches up and pulls the book from the shelf, he turns and with book in hand he toddles back, swaying on unsteady feet as they rush, to where Scott is sitting on the chair with Cianan suckling at his breast.

“Oma read me,” he thrusts the book towards Scott.

“Michael, I’ll read to you once Cianan has finished feeding,” Scott informs his eldest child, “No-one interrupted, demanding all my attention, while you were feeding, did they?”

“No,” Derek smirks from the doorway, “But none of the other children are as demanding and insistent of your attention as this one,” he swoops in and gathers the two-year-old in his grasp, raising him into the air giggling as the book drops to the floor. Derek turns the child in his arms and supports him as he settles against him. That is until he notices that the book is no-longer in his hand. He pushes against his father’s chest and looks down to the floor.

“Dada,” he points at the book, “Book fell.”

“You want me to read to you while your Oma is feeding your cousin?” he asks, kneeling down to pick up the book, unsurprised to see it’s ‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’; their son has a fascination with tigers. Michael looks at him expectantly. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go find your brother and I’ll read to the both of you.”

“I think Lucas is colouring with his Oma-Isaac and his other brother and cousins,” Scott smiles up at his mate.

“In Isaac’s and Ethan’s nursery?”

“Probably.”

Derek bends down and kisses the top of Scott’s head before he turns and heads out the door to find his other mate and sons.

Derek finds Lucas sprawled on the floor in Issy’s nursery with his half-brother Caden, half-sister Laura, cousin Iokua, and oma-Isaac. All of them laying on the floor on their stomachs drawing; well, as much as eighteen-month and two-year-old children can be said to draw. Isaac has his legs kicking in the air and still has his footed pyjamas on. Crayons are scattered all over the floor, as are sheets of paper.

“What’s all this mess?” Derek tries to sternly demand as he walks into the room with Michael on his hip, but he can’t keep the smirk from his voice.

“Dada!” Caden, Laura, and Lucas squeal as Iokua shouts, “Afa.” They all start trying to explain what they’re drawing at the same time.

“Daddy read tiger book,” Michael states once his siblings and cousin have quietened.

“Let’s tidy some of the crayons and drawings off the floor first,” Derek says, “And those that want to draw can continue to do so and those that want to sit with us and listen to the story can.” He looks down at Isaac adding, “Scott’s still feeding Cianan.”

“The rest of the kids are upstairs with Jackson, Ethan, Aiden, Danny, and Matt,” Isaac answers Derek’s unasked enquiry, “I haven’t had the chance to get changed yet.”

“Well, once I’ve read the story, and Scott’s free to come and take this lot up to play with everyone else, I’ll get you bathed and changed,” Derek says as he lets Michael down to the floor to help clear up the crayons.

“Thanks,” Isaac smiles at him, mouthing, “Daddy.” Derek kisses his golden-haired mate chastely on the lips, before they both join in to help with the tidying up.

Soon enough, Derek is sitting on the two-seater sofa, Michael on his lap, with Lucas and Laura beside him. Isaac is sitting at his feet, his head resting against Derek’s thigh and Caden and Iokua both sitting on his lap. Michael turns the pages of the book as Derek’s free hand cards through Isaac’s hair while he reads to them.

“Sophie opened the door, and there was a…”

“TIGER,” Michael shouts interrupting his daddy.

“Yes,” Derek, smiles, “A big, furry, stripy tiger.”

  
  


Stiles scrubs his hand over his face, stifling a groan of frustration as he sits back in the chair, his head resting on the top of the seat back.

“Change the report will not,” Drazin states from the other side of the desk.

“I know that,” the King of Beacon Hills sighs. He lifts his head from the back of the chair and looks at the report on his desk again. He’d rather be going over these in his office in his Sithen; but he has a meeting with the Board of Supervisors, all nine of them, to go over this report and he doesn’t want them coming into his Sithen. So, he’s stuck here at his official office in City Hall. It used to be the Mayor’s office, until he removed the position after the Goddess granted him a crown and his Sithen became the Sith Court of Beacon Hills. As King he didn’t want there to be any doubt that he ruled Beacon Hills and a position of Mayor would just have muddied the waters.

Beacon Hills is not entirely independent yet; Independence Day is scheduled for Friday January 16 th, 2015. This is only August, there are just over five months to go, meaning they are currently in a period of ‘transition’ while the bureaucracy of the federal government slowly disentangles Beacon Hills from the rest of the United States. Yet, in the six months since it was announced that sovereignty had been granted, over a quarter of the human population of Beacon Hills decided to move out. But that is not the problem facing him. There are nearly twice as many people looking to move in, some human but most are non-humans rushing to the first supernatural sovereign lands in the United States. Property prices are rising fast and there are not enough homes for the number of people moving into the city. There are a lot of homeless families suddenly in the city; who are all priced out of the housing market.

There are also more children than there are places for them in the schools, and that is only going to get worse; there has been a large spike in pregnancies in the county since he gained his crown. And that has only added fuel to the reports of him being a fertility god.

His thoughts are interrupted by Drazin indicating that the Board of Supervisors are waiting.

“So, instead of the population reduction that was imagined due to the Human First supporters leaving, we have an over-population problem because more people are moving to the city than are leaving. Not only that, those that are moving in either can’t find property to buy or rent, or they simply can’t afford it. And not one of you has been able to put forward a proposal to help solve the problem?” He glares at each of the Councillors sitting around the conference table. “What good is an elected board of advisors if you can’t offer any advice?” he forcefully asks them.

“It’s not as if we can suddenly build new houses to home the faithful that flock to the city,” Supervisor Valerie Brown of District Five retorts. He’s sure she is a Human First supporter that is just bidding her time to make as large a profit from the sale of her own home before she sells up and leaves Beacon Hills.

“No, no it’s not,” Stiles agrees, “However,” his tone turns harsher as he points out to all of them, “Most of the homes sold have been bought as second homes or with buy to let. They are either sitting empty as the owner will only be residing in them for as little as a month in the entire year, or they are being rented out at eye gouging rates.” He lets that sink in, and before Brown can make the statement of ‘well that is the pricing that the market demands’, he continues, “Those forced to live on the streets can’t get a job because they can’t afford to pay unreasonable rents, and there are jobs not being filled because the owners of most of the homes don’t actually live in them. This will stop.”

“How?” Brown demands.

“Quite simple, rent control,” Stiles smiles at her, “I am capping the rent allowed to be charged in the city, and I am also declaring that no home can be owned unless it is the owners’ primary residence and occupied at least ten months of the year.”

“WHAT?!” Brown’s chair topples backwards to the floor as she jumps to her feet, “You can’t do that!”

“Yes. I. Can.” Stiles decrees, “I will not allow anyone to be charged an unfair rent. It will be capped based on the average for the type of property and the size of property in the neighbourhood before Sovereignty was granted. And, I am not allowing neighbourhoods to become ghost towns with businesses closing because the nearby homes sit empty for most of the year…”

“You can’t force some left-wing communist liberal agenda on…” Supervisor Brown tries to interrupt.

“Also,” Stiles continues right over her, “I am decreeing that at least a living wage will be paid to all employees within Beacon Hills; I’m thinking maybe twenty dollars per hour.”

“You’ll put companies out of business…”

“What partners in a business take out as their salary is entirely up to them,” Stiles ignores the protests as he continues, “But if they pay themselves exorbitantly at the expense of their employees then they may well go out of business. But people need to be paid a wage that means they only need to work one job, not three, to keep a roof above their head and their family from starving. They need to be paid fairly…”

“Fairly?! How is paying some high-school dropout twenty dollars an hour to server you a burger and fries fair?!”

“Because for all you know the person serving you your burger and fries is working to pay for their college tuition while they try to ensure they don’t end up laden with debt before they even start their career and they are having to deal with an asshole like you looking down your nose at them while shovelling greasy fries into your stupid mouth,” Stiles fumes at the only person to have spoken out against anything he’s said so far, “Maybe you ought to find out what the real world is like when you don’t have mom and dad buying your education for you.”

“I…”

“Shut up. I’m not finished yet,” he snaps, “There will be a new local tax, set at five percent of a person’s salary. This will be used to provide universal healthcare for every resident of Beacon Hills. Then there are other necessities like power and water; these will be taken out of private hands and owned and controlled by the Independent Supernatural Nation of Beacon Hills. The local power plant will be converted to a renewable energy source; solar, wind, hydro, the specifics will need to be investigated. The employees will be retrained as required…”

“Just how…?”

“I’m not finished,” Stiles practically snarls at Brown’s further interruption, “The rail and bus public transport in the city will be owned and run by the city. The abandoned rail track, stations and depot will be restored to working order. Now, there are also a lot of other abandoned buildings that are boarded up and have been left to crumble, like the mall complex and the First National Bank building, these are gonna be repaired; starting with the bank which I want with power and water up and running to give the homeless a safe space before winter…”

“And just how is all of this spending going to be paid for…?”

“Through minimal community taxes and,” Stiles smiles, “I will be reviewing the salaries paid to local government employees where that salary is above the state average. So, I’ll be starting with the Board of Supervisors, yours, to see just how you justify being paid more than twice the average.”

“You can’t interfere in the free market like this; this is America…”

“I can!” Stiles silences the dissent, “You are living in the Sovereign State of Beacon Hills. This land is part of the Sith Court of Beacon Hills, and I am King Tighearnach. The free market is all well and good for luxuries, but it is no place for the necessities of life. Something that is needed for someone to live, like fresh water, is not a commodity that anyone has the right to profit from. Meeting adjourned,” he stands and walks out of the room; exhaling as Drazin closes the door behind him. He turns his head and looks down to Drazin beside him, whispering, “And I thought the toughest thing I had to do this year was graduate high-school.”

  
  


Jordan will be glad when he’s finally allowed to work again; as a deputy in the sheriff’s department. 

There has been a lot of resistance to him resuming his job at the sheriff station now everyone knows he isn’t human. His master’s father faced a backlash against him as sheriff for reinstating him. Even after Beacon Hills was granted sovereignty under the Independence Accords, became an independent Sith Court and Stiles its king. Even some of the non-humans that have moved in – replacing the humans that have left – are not keen on a Fire-Bane/Incubus hybrid working in the sheriff’s department. Even though he is collared; and it’s not easy to miss the collar. Like impossible.

No, even collared there are those that are afraid of him.

So, while the transfer of power from the State of California to the Náisiún Osnádúrtha Cnoic Beacon as the Court Comhairleoir, Drazin, proclaimed it, is under way, Jordan is stuck behind a desk in the Sheriff’s office. 

For now, the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department reports to the assigned liaison of the Marshal’s Office, who had taken over the offices in town that Agent McCall had acquired for the Special Investigation Division of the FBI, until Independence Day when the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department will report to the constitutional government of Beacon Hills. The head of the Sith Court; Stiles. Jordan is not sure how the Sheriff is resolving the dilemma of his son being his boss.

Right now, Jordan and the Sheriff are both sitting behind a desk going through resume after resume from people wanting to join Beacon Hills Law Enforcement; humans, fae, mages, hunters, and therianthropes – coyotes mostly but there is a jaguar, a tiger, and a bear too, but no werewolves. 

Marshal Hanscum, their liaison, is helping them. Stiles insisted, given this wasn’t just about staffing the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station; this is setting up a completely new department of law enforcement.

“So,” Hanscum looks up from the raft of resumes, “You’re gonna need to ensure you have people to cover the tasks that are currently handled outside of Beacon Hills.” Stiles had officially called their lands the Independent Supernatural Nation of Beacon Hills, but most people still just call it Beacon Hills. “Meaning, that as well as police officers, you’re gonna need correctional police officers, and special agents. They are all gonna need to know what the local sovereign laws are as they will take precedence over state.”

“There isn’t a correctional facility in Beacon Hills currently,” John states, though everyone at the table knows this, “And I’m not sure there is anywhere suitable to use as a prison that can be converted before Independence.”

“Arrangements can be made for prisoners to be held in state facilities until you have the situation sorted out, or as an on-going deal,” the Marshal informs them, “But Beacon Hills will have to cover the costs…”

“Plus, the profit margin,” Jordan intercedes, “Around five percent of prisoners are held in private facilities in California, and that number is growing.”

“We’ll leave that to Stiles and his advisors to sort out,” John sighs.

“You also need to consider,” Hanscum continues, “How many of your existing deputies are going to continue and how many are planning on leaving. Any indications?”

“Beacon Hills may be roughly the same size as San Francisco, but we’re mostly woodland and the preserve; our population is less than fifty thousand contained in about a third of the land,” seeing the look on Hanscum’s faced he gets to the point, “We have on rota sixty-seven officers, sixty-eight including myself, and another twenty-two administrative personnel. About half of the personnel are from Beacon County; not Beacon Hills directly…”

“Well, all those staff that are not Beacon Hills, those positions you’re looking to fill,” Hanscum informs them.

“I can’t fire…”

“Either they move to Beacon Hills or you’re gonna need to let them go,” Hanscum plainly states, “This is no-longer part of the United States and you can’t employ people that are not from Beacon Hills to work in your law enforcement, they’re foreign nationals.”

“Goddess,” John curses, scrubbing his face with his hands, again.

“I think there are some that would choose to move to Beacon Hills,” Jordan states, “Probably more than those that will leave.”

“Based on?” Hanscum arches an eyebrow at him.

“How they react to me,” Jordan shrugs.

“Some of them have less of a problem with the King’s Bane working beside them than others?”

“Or at least less of an issue than some of those that we’re here to serve and protect,” Jordan doesn’t hide his unhappiness at the disdain some of his fellow deputies have shown.

“This is something that you need to resolve,” Hanscum directs her comments to the Sheriff, “You need your officers to be able to work together and they need to be able to treat each other as equals; no matter if they are werewolf, fae, or human.”

“Or Fire-Bane and Incubus,” Jordan adds.

“Then we need to go through these applications and figure who we can hire to rotate into the schedules to replace those from Beacon county,” John says with an air of resignation.

“And those that are gonna leave,” Jordan adds.

“Yeah,” the sheriff sighs, picking up the resume on top of the pile.

They are slowly, far slower than they’d hoped, working through the pile of resumes deciding on who to invite for an initial interview; sorting them into first choice, second choice, hard no’s, and those that have useful skills but don’t have the any law enforcement training.

“Everyone, including the current officers are going to need training to cover the new local laws,” John states as he looks over another resume where there is no reference to them having taken any law enforcement classes or the California PELLETB – or to give its full title POST (Peace Officer Standards and Training) Entry Level Law Enforcement Test Battery – aptitude test, “Once Stiles decrees what they are…”

“The ones he has mentioned are mostly around recognition of poly-relationships, dominant/submissive relationships, and werewolf and other supernatural mates; like making the age of consent laws more flexible for mated supernaturals…”

“How flexible?” John’s gaze falls hard on his collared deputy.

“He discussed with the pack about exemption for supernaturals that are mated in situations where one is an omega and in heat…”

“Did he,” the sheriff’s eyebrow arches as his gaze remains fixed on the deputy, “And just what did he have in mind for mated supernaturals where neither are an omega and one of them is not yet eighteen?”

“He suggested lowering the age of consent to sixteen in line with most other states and majority of European countries,” Jordan tries not let his uneasiness show as he knows the sheriff is pointedly making reference his situation with his fifteen – almost sixteen – year-old mate, “Though he did mention that there are more countries in Europe where the age of consent is lower than sixteen than where it is sixteen.” Seeing the line of the sheriff’s lips tighten, Jordan decides to stop talking.

“Anyway,” John frowns and changes the subject, “Irrespective of the experience or training that anyone currently has, everyone is gonna need retraining to some degree…”

“True,” Hanscum looks over the top of the resume she’s holding at him, “So, are you thinking of putting some of those from the fourth group,” the ones with no law enforcement experience or qualifications and is the largest of the four piles of resumes they have so far gone through, “Into groups one and two?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, “If after the interview we think they may be suitable, we can arrange for them to go on ride-along and volunteer at the station while they study for the PELLETB, and if they pass that and the medical and psychological exams we have a deputy.”

“It will give them a taste of what the job entails,” Hanscum postulates.

“Especially if we get them to do most of the paperwork,” Jordan smirks, at the sheriff’s pointed clearing of his throat he quickly adds, “As a draft to be completed by the actual officer.”

“Some of them may decide it’s not for them, before they’ve completed the training and exams,” John adds, “If we can start the process sooner rather than later, we may end up with enough staff that we’re not all working double-shifts to keep the station running.”

  
  


“So, I’ve started the course on xenobiology and medicine that the California State Health Board are now offering; so that I can treat werewolves, fae, other therianthropes,” Liam’s stepdad says as they are sitting around the Geyer family dining table.

“And I’m updating my social sciences degree to include modules on werewolf pack hierarchy and dynamics, and fae court politics,” his mom adds.

“That’s great,” Liam enthuses. He was finally allowed to stay over with his parents, sleeping in his old bed in his room. It’s not his first visit, or even his first unsupervised visit, but it is the first time he has slept here; away from his pack and his mate. It was great being with his parents, and it’s great that they are being so supportive, but even though he’s only been here overnight, he’s missing his pack; and his mate.

“You have that look again,” he hears his mom saying.

“Look?”

“Yes, the one that says your mind is somewhere else,” she smiles, or tries to, but he can see the hint of hurt in her eye and smell the sourness of disappointment from both his parents.

“No,” he quickly tries to reassure them, “It’s great being here with you again, I just…”

“Just…?” his stepdad prompts him to continue.

“I do miss my pack, but I miss you too when I’m not here,” his brow crinkles as he replies, “I just wish there was more of my pack’s scent here, it would make it easier being away from my pack and my mate…”

“Mate?” his mom exclaims in surprise, “You’ve only just turned sixteen. Aren’t you a little young to have a mate? Werewolves mate for life don’t they.”

“Um… yeah… I…”

“From what I understand,” his stepdad thankfully interjects, “Werewolves can tell their mates through scent, so, when you meet the one, you know they’re the one. Is that right?”

“Yeah, most supernaturals have a way to identify their mate,” Liam smiles, thinking of his incubus mate’s dreams.

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” his mom asks with a smile, but he can tell it’s forced; he can smell the worry from her.

“Well, um… he…”

“He?” his mom exclaims, her face showing startled surprise, while his stepdad merely arches an eyebrow.

“Mom, dad,” Liam looks earnestly between them, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling before he continues, “I’m gay.”

“Well, if your mate is a guy that’s hardly surprising,” his stepdad smiles.

“I’m sorry, I just assumed that…” his mom stumbles over apologising, “I shouldn’t have. I know better than that, I don’t… I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath, and calming herself smiles as she asks, “So, who is your young man and when do we get to meet him?”

Internally, Liam groans.

“Well, technically, I’d be the young man,” he cautiously replies.

“Oh, is he a senior?” his dad asks, “Is he planning on going to college?” 

He can’t see any other option at this point.

“It’s Jordan,” at their blank expressions he clarifies, “Deputy Parrish.”

The glass of water is knocked from his mom’s place at the table, and shatters on the floor.

  
  


“Just great,” Jackson frowns down at the eighteen-month-old bundle in his arms that has just thrown up the milk they had drank over his pale-blue satin bra.

“What?” Danny calls to him from the floor where he has two other toddlers on his back.

“Oh, sorry,” Ethan calls from the seat across from him where he has two more on his knee, “Brady does tend to get a bit over-excited when there’s a lot going on around him.”

“A bit over-excited?” Jackson scowls down at the now giggling child in his arms, then turns to glare at his mate, “How about getting me something to clean up with or come and take the puke machine while I go and clean up and get changed.”

“Here, I’ll take him,” Aiden says as he walks into the room.

“Thanks Aiden,” Jackson replies still glowering at Danny, as he hands Brady over to his father to clean the boy up, “At least someone comes to my rescue.”

“I have two children on my back,” his mate defends himself.

“Ha,” Jackson scoff’s, the low heel of his mule slipper shoe slapping on the floor as he makes his way out the room to clean himself and change his lingerie.

Walking into their bedroom, Jackson unclips his bra and throws it into the hamper before stepping out of his panties and tossing them in with his bra. He walks naked into the adjoining bathroom to wash his chest and stomach.

He startles at little at the feel of the arm snaking around his waist. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing in front of the full-length mirror, the fresh pair of panties in hand staring at himself. Nor does he know how he didn’t sense his mate coming up behind him.

“Want to tell me what’s worrying you?” Danny asks, nuzzling at his neck.

“Nothing,” Jackson lies.

“Do I need to put you over my knee and spank the truth out of you?” Danny’s voice is a low rumble as he pushes his mate for the truth.

“Goddess!” Jackson pulls out of his grip, “I am not Scott.”

“I know that,” Danny retorts, his hand snatching hold of Jackson’s wrist, “Otherwise that would have been an invitation to foreplay, not a threat of punishment.” Jackson’s cheeks colour as his gaze falls off to the side and down to the floor, not daring to meet Danny’s eyes. “Please Jacks, just tell me what is wrong,” the beta wolf insists.

“Look at me!” the blond omega shouts, “Isn’t it obvious? I mean you never even play with my nipples anymore, and why would you?! You’re gay, and my… my pecs are gone, and I’ve grown these massive tits, I can’t even fit into my bras properly anymore and…”

“Jacks,” Danny pulls him into a hug, “Your breasts aren’t massive, and Scott’s breasts have gotten bigger too, you know that.” Really, they all know that Jackson is barely an AA cup size – if that – and Scott’s breasts are at most a AAA cup size, “With you both being the only omegas that are producing milk for the kids, and the littles…”

“Scott just looks like he has flabby pecs,” Jackson huffs, “I. Don’t. Fit. My. Bras.” Danny pulls back to look his mate in the eye, and Jackson continues, “And you don’t like touching them.”

“I only stopped touching them when you complained about leaking milk when I did play with them,” he corrects him, “And Scott’s are only slightly smaller than yours because he had twins while you had quadruplets. But you are both producing the milk for seventeen kids and two littles,” Jackson opens his mouth to protest, but Danny continues, “We all know that when the four of you have your omega nights, that Scott and you both have Ethan and Isaac suckling from you.” Jackson closes his mouth.

“Now, is it the size of your breasts you’re concerned about? Do you want Stiles to see if he can use his magic to reduce them to the same size as Scott’s?”

“Maybe then people would find me attractive again,” Jackson mumbles, but Danny hears him clearly.

“Everyone finds my slut attractive,” Danny grins at him, “You know you’re everyone’s type.”

“Used to be.”

“Not used to be. Are.” Danny pulls Jackson to him and brushes their lips together, “You are one very sexy male omega…”

“Intersex beta,” Jackson corrects him.

“Very sexy, sassy, IB, and me and Stiles are so lucky that you are our mate. We love that you are our slut and we love every part of you.” One hand falls to fondle Jackson’s little cock-let and balls, pulling a soft moan from his lips, while he leans in, his head ducking to kiss over his breasts, “And now that I know you want me to play with these,” he nips at Jackson’s nipples, licking around the areola, “I will be, no matter how much you complain about your milk leaking.”

“Danny, please,” the blond wolf whines as his mate pulls them towards the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own.  

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>   
  

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Melissa stretches out in bed, turning in Chris’s arms. It’s the first day in while that she has managed to have a lie-in. Looking at the clock on the bedside table she’s shocked at how late it already is.

“John is at the Marshal’s office,” Chris mumbles at her ear.

“You should have woken me before he left,” she chides him.

“We both agreed you needed your sleep,” he informs her, “This promotion has you run off your feet at the hospital; preparing for independence.”

“I know, it’s been keeping me busy,” she agrees, and it has. Since becoming a Nurse Manager, she has basically been on call twenty-four hours a day. Despite the fact that her duties are supposed to be directing and supervising the other nursing staff, as well as tending to the needs of patients and their family members, she has been spending most of her time helping the CNO and the Director of Nursing plan the training of the existing nursing staff to deal with supernatural patients and recruiting new staff that already have experience treating supernatural patients. Since she is the only one of them with a werewolf son, who is in a pack with ties to the new Sidhe King of Beacon Hills, and has some first-hand experience in dealing with the supernatural, they tend to look to her for advice and guidance on the decisions they are making.

“More than busy,” Chris huffs, “John and I have hardly spent any time with you. And, when he’s had time from planning the policing of Beacon Hills after Independence, we’ve had to amuse ourselves…”

“Ha,” she snorts, grinning at him with the glint of a leer in her eye, “That I’d like to see.”

“And we’d love to show you,” he smirks back at her, leaning in and kissing the end of her nose, “How about some breakfast?”

“You mean lunch,” she laughs, remembering how late it is.

“We could always go to the little café, and get something to take out, get enough for three and go see if John is free to join us?” Chris proposes.

“Yeah,” she likes that idea, “Though we should maybe get more food, won’t Jordan and Hanscum be with him? They’ve been working together all week; it would be rude to turn up with only enough for three.”

“Okay,” he smiles, “Let’s shower and head out.”

“I think after we’ve showered, we should get dressed first,” she laughs.

“Oh, I don’t know…” he grins.

“I do,” smiling, Melissa leaps out of bed and heads through into their bathroom. Chris kicks back the covers and follows at the sound of running water, “How about I help wash your back?” he grins.

Melissa looks over her shoulder, “Just my back?”

  
  


  


“Mom?” Liam tries not to whine, but he can smell the shock and worry from both his parents. His mom especially.

“But… but he’s so much older than you,” his mom blurts out, “And… and he’s not a werewolf, he’s… he’s…”

“An Incubus,” Liam supplies, “And a dragon. I know, but he’s also my mate, and no matter what he’s always gonna be my mate and he’s always gonna be older than me…”

“But you’re a child, you’re not old enough to… has he forced you to…” his mom questions with hint of steel edging into her voice.

“No!” Liam growls, his fangs popping before he can get himself under control and pull them back. He sees the fear flash in his parents’ eyes and feels both the guilt and sorrow of causing it. “Jordan hasn’t forced me to do anything. He wouldn’t even kiss me, despite knowing he was my mate and I was his,” he huffs, looking down at the table and not at his parents, “All because of the fact he’s ten years older than me. You’ve no idea what’s like to know your mate and to feel rejected by them like that.”

“I’ve read that it can cause a werewolf to feel great emotional pain, that manifests in a physical way. That in a mated pair when one dies the other can quickly follow because of the loss,” his dad softly says, his head dipped as he fixes his gaze on the table rather than looking at either his wife or son.

“Yeah,” Liam swallows before adding, “Thankfully, he’s over the no kissing rule,” and a lot more, but he is not about to tell his parents anything about his sex life. He has no intention of them ever knowing he likes getting his ass spanked, hard, or about the orgies when his alpha, or Ethan, or Jackson, or Isaac are in heat. 

“Well, I guess, as long as your happy and not being coerced into anything you’re not ready for,” he hears the almost lie in the stutter of her heartbeat, “We just want you to be safe, well looked after, happy,” and he hears the truth of that.

“I am well looked after, and safe, and happy,” he wanly smiles at them, “But I do miss you guys.”

His parents smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach their eyes. It’s going to take them time to get used to the idea that their fifteen-year-old son is werewolf ‘married’ to a male mate that’s ten years older than him.

  
  


  


Jackson dragged the brush with the pale blue nail polish over the last of his toenails and recapped the bottle, setting down on the dresser. He wiggled his toes blowing air over them before sliding off the side of the bed and padding over to the closet in just the panties and bra he was wearing; a light blue similar the polish covering his fingernails and toenails.

He pulls on a pair of dark blue capri pants with a white floral motif and a white linen loose fit Henley top with three-quarter length sleeves. Slipping his bare feet into a pair of open toe platform wedge sandals, made of cork and white leather, he heads out of the bedroom in search of his mates, kids, and the rest of the pack.

He’s walking past the den in the direction of the kitchen when he’s stopped in his tracks by a voice calling from the study.

“Hey sweet cheeks, those pants really show off your ass.”

“You’re home!” he excitedly replies, turning in the direction of his mate’s voice. Stiles is sitting behind the desk in the study, papers scattered over every surface.

“Hell yeah,” Stiles smiles, “You have no idea how much better I felt once I got back inside our Sithen. I couldn’t deal with being in that office a second longer, especially after that… Councillor, Supervisor Brown, was so…”

“She being mean to you again?” Jackson pouts, walking into the study and sitting himself on Stiles’ lap.

“I just know she’s Human First, or at the very least anti-supernatural,” his mate grumbles.

“Well, thankfully the supervisors are only advisors, you’re the power in Beacon Hills and they have to enact whatever you want,” Jackson tries to cheer him up.

“Yeah, but there’s enacting what I say and enacting what I say in a manner that means it will succeed. I get the feeling Brown would try to ensure my policies fail so she could point the finger and say, ‘see what happens when you pursue liberal agendas’.”

“She’s republican, like the Whittemores…”

“She has a nasty streak with it,” Stiles states thoughtfully, “I don’t think the founding fathers would recognise republicans today as bearing any resemblance to republicanism as they knew it. Then it was based around the ideals of virtue and it was against corruption and greed. They expected people to give up their own self-interests for the common good, not their individuality and self-worth.”

Jackson doesn’t know what to say to that, he nuzzles against his mate’s cheek instead. Stiles smiles and presses back against him.

“Come on,” Stiles sighs, “Let’s go find the rest of the pack and get some food before I need to get back to this,” he waves his hand at the papers littering the desk. With a smile he kisses Jackson’s cheek before they rise from the seat and go in search of their pack mates.

  
  


  


“So,” Rochel Kauffmann peers across at her grandson, “You told the King of Beacon Hills what the Goddess showed you…”

“Not exactly,” Nathan squirms under her scrutiny.

“Herschel Nathan Aaron Greenberg,” and Goddess he hates it when they address him by his full name. His mom and his grandma both do it, and only when they are scolding him, “Just what did you do?”

“Wweeeeellll,” Nathan stretches out the word before he grimaces his rapid-fire reply, “I did warn him about the Brides and Consorts and how they worship him like a god and that was really about it.”

“Oy! My grandson is a meshuggener,” she rails at the ceiling, her gaze falling on him again and he ducks his head, “Why didn’t you tell him everything you saw?”

“Because I didn’t understand everything I saw,” he wails, “I thought I was having some sort of crazy dream or a breakdown. So, I stuck to what made sense from what I could see in the real world when I was awake.”

“He needs to be warned of the possible consequences of being worshipped by humans,” Rochel admonishes the young seer.

“I did,” Nathan protests, looks slightly less certain, then adds, “Sort of. When he said he wasn’t a god, I told him he might not have a choice.”

“No, he won’t become a god, he’ll become the Goddess’s power on earth,” she corrects him, “Through him she will be able to enact her will, making more humans worship him, and her. This will make him more powerful, and through him the Goddess will become more powerful. To humans he will become god-like, but that’s not the consequences I mean.”

“I was afraid of that,” he sighs, slumping dejectedly in his seat.

  
  


  


Stiles had thought that they had forgotten about it; or hoped that they changed their minds and just not told him. It turns out that both options were just wishful thinking on his part. But Aiden, Matt, and Ethan are sitting across from him, with Aiden and Matt reminding him of the promise he made.

“I know it’s been a while since we asked, but a lot happened after we asked last time and we thought we should wait for things to settle down. Only, things aren’t really getting any less hectic, especially for you, and we want to have those collars, we want to be yours forever,” Matt excitedly runs one word into the next, his voice sounding hopeful, joyous, fearful, and anxious at the same time.

“And to wear them when we go back to school,” Aiden swiftly interjects, stopping Matt’s flow.

“I told you both to talk to Jordan about his collar, did you?” Stiles fixes them with a stern gaze; he told them how he felt about the way Jordan ended up with the collar and what it meant.

“Yes Master,” they both respond.

“And you both still want a collar that can never be removed and will mean that you are bound to me for the rest of your lives?” he maintains the firm demeanour as he adds, “Which will be a very, very, long life; far longer than any human or werewolf that is not part of my pack.”

“Yes Master.” They both nod eagerly.

“I told you I would consider it, not that I would agree to it, and I can’t give you a collar like Jordan’s,” he sees the dejection fall across their faces, “You know that I don’t like that Jordan’s collar means he has no way out of our relationship; if he wants to leave he can’t. So, I will give you a collar that looks like Jordan’s, one that only you will be able to remove; no-one else, not even me, will be able to remove the collar from around your neck.”

Smiles break across their faces at thought, both knowing that they have no intention of ever removing the collar once it’s in place. They leap from their seated position and landing at his feet they wrap their arms around Stiles legs and torso as they both exclaim, “Thank you, thank you, Master.”

“Enough,” he ruffles their hair, “I’ll need to have the collars made, and that may take some time,” time he hopes they will take to reconsider and change their minds, “So, be patient.”

“Yes, Master,” they smile up at him, leaning into his touch.

  
  


  


_ “The headlines are calling it the extreme left wing liberal agenda threatening commerce and living standards in Beacon Hills,” the TV reporter states, “As sources close to the board of supervisors report on King Tighearnach’s plans to seize control of the medical facilities and the power and water companies, while forcing businesses to raise wages to unsustainable levels. They also report that he has plans to bring down house prices and rental rates by forcing through draconian local laws on the property market.” _

“’_Close to’ my ass,” Stiles mutters as he mutes the sound on the TV; the pack, Melissa, John, and Chris, sitting around in the den with him, turn their attention from the now silent news broadcast to their King._

“Their gonna make stuff up until you tell them what you’re really doing,” Danny says.

“Or, until one of the supervisors, other than the one spreading the false information…”

“The one you suspect of spinning your actual plans in a negative way to suit her own agenda,” Jordan interrupts him, ducking his head as Stiles scowls at him.

“The Supervisors are all gonna give their own version of what your plan is,” Stiles’ dad counsels him, “And even when you talk to the journalists to explain your ideas, they’ll still take away and report their own interpretation of them.”

“So, what should I do?” 

“Listen to advice you trust and do what you believe is in the best interest of the people; all of the people.” 

Stiles nods in reply to his father’s words, certain in the action he was going to take.

  
  


  


“I’m not an accountant, Stiles, I…”

“Oh, come on Lyds, you’re gonna be the first Ban Sidhe to get a Fields Medal, you’re the smartest person I know,” he tries to cajole her.

“That doesn’t mean I’m the best person to look at the budget for the city and tell you whether the math for your proposals works or not.” He gives her a pleading doe-eyed look. “Fine, I’ll look over your figures,” she grudgingly agrees, “But you should get a proper financial advisor for this.”

“Drazin is seeing if there are any suitable candidates among the fae that have come to town looking to join my Court. He’s also looking for suitable nannies to help with the kids,” he smiles at her, “Apparently all Kings and their consorts should have nannies to help raise the children.”

“Especially when they have so many toddlers at once,” Lydia smirks as she takes the set of books from Stiles’ hands.

Stiles is sitting in the study a few hours later when the click of heels on the floor approached the door. He looked up from the papers in front of him to see the door open and Lydia enter; she didn’t bother knocking.

“A lot of people are not going to be happy with these changes,” she raises her eyebrows, telling him what he already knows.

“True, but I want Beacon Hills to have social welfare as its basis. I want everyone to have a fair wage and equal opportunity, I want everyone to have access to healthcare, education, and basic necessities of living.”

“Universal Healthcare and free education are costly, and I don’t think that…”

“But they aren’t free… well, yeah, they are free at the point of use, but everyone pays for them through the increase in taxes. And that ensures that nobody ends up bankrupt because of medical bills that their insurance refuses to cover. It ensures that everyone that wants a college education can have it, without the crippling debt once they earn their degree…”

“But how can you make that work…” she interrupts his train of thought.

“It works in Europe. Why can’t it work here?” He huffs out a breath, a sigh of frustration as he leans back in his chair; his brow creasing as he thinks how best to explain his reasoning.

“This isn’t Europe,” she bluntly replies, “And, you are gonna need to sell your plan to the American population of Beacon Hills. Most of whom will see these as a left-wing liberal nonsense…”

“**It is!**” Stiles blurts out. Lydia’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as do his own as his thoughts catch up to the words that ejaculated from his mouth before he corrects himself, “Well, they are left-wing and liberal based, **but it’s not nonsense**,” adding for back-up, “If you look at the global league tables for healthcare and education, European countries with state provided Universal Healthcare and Education rank far higher than the USA with systems where the healthcare and education you receive depend on the size of your bank balance, or lands you with a massive debt that you may not be able to afford to pay off.”

“I reiterate my point,” she states, “This isn’t Europe and you will need to prove to people that they will be better off with your edicts implemented. And you need to be clear on which systems your implementing; those of Norway, Denmark, Germany, France, the UK…”

“I wasn’t thinking of following any of them exactly, more taking the best points of each. And, also the healthcare and education would only be free to those permanently residing and paying tax in Beacon Hills.”

“So, anyone not paying Beacon Hills taxes would have to pay for their healthcare and education that they received within the territory?”

“Yes, which hopefully wouldn’t be many residents, but they, or more accurately their insurance, will pay exactly what they would if Beacon Hills was still part of the USA. It should help offset some of the additional costs.”

“But this is not Europe, and Beacon Hills will still be landlocked inside the USA; where medical costs are far higher than in Canada or Europe. A ten-millilitre bottle of insulin can cost four hundred dollars here, not the twenty dollars it costs in Canada or Europe.”

“Well,” he smiles at her, “If the US drug companies won’t sell to us at the same price they sell to Canada and Europe, then we will get the drugs from Canada; even with the cost of transporting it here it will be cheaper…”

“I don’t think that would be environmentally friendly, and I don’t think it’s that simple,” she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe not, but if they can sell those drugs in other countries at less than half the price they charge in the US and still make a profit. What reason do they have for hiking the price here? Other than greed…”

“You’re speculating,” she cuts in, “For all you know any profit they make outside the US may not be enough to fund continued research…”

“I don’t buy that,” Stiles all but growls, “Even taking into account the cost of research, development, and testing of new drugs, the profits made from the increase in price charged versus the cost to produce is morally dubious…” he groans, running his hand over his head, his fingers tangling in his hair as he grabs it in frustration, before continuing, “We’re not taking about toaster ovens or TV screens, we’re taking about medical treatments that are needed to save peoples’ lives. Quite literally, people will die without access to those drugs. And the Big-Pharma pricing means that you need wealth to ensure your health.”

“Yes, but all people are going to see is that you are raising their taxes and they aren’t going to like it.”

“But they will have more money in their pocket, healthcare will be cheaper, they’ll only need health insurance for outside of Beacon Hills, the water and power bills will be lower, the city will be rent controlled and…”

“Power and water?” Lydia halts his ongoing listing of the benefits he expects to achieve.

“Currently we have a small coal fired power plant, it doesn’t produce enough electricity for the whole of Beacon Hills, some of the power is from the grid and the coal is shipped in. That can’t continue when we become independent. For one, the cost would be too much. And **far more importantly**, the environmental damage of using fossil fuel to generate the electricity is unacceptable. We’re not a big enough market for private companies. Our best option is for us to take control of the power production, change the source of power to renewable, which should have been done years ago anyway, and with the power supply no-longer needing to pay dividends to shareholders, the cost to residents can be reduced. The maintenance of the buildings and infrastructure can come out of the local budget, the revenue from people paying for the power they use can cover wages and be reinvested into research. The same with the water company, the public transport…”

“We don’t have local public transport,” she helpfully points out.

“I know,” he frowns, “It wasn’t profitable enough. That’s why we should provide it. A percentage of the taxes can be used to maintain the infrastructure for the rail and bus network; the fares used to cover the wages and reinvest in…”

“I don’t think you have enough capital to even get it started,” she interrupts.

“Not fully, to start with, and probably not the rail network for a couple of years, but we can start with a few buses running regularly around town.”

Lydia sighs, sitting back in the chair across from him. She looks at him with calculating eyes, he can almost see the thoughts circling around inside her head.

“I know you’re right about the healthcare in places like Norway, Denmark, Germany, France, and the UK. They are rated far higher than here…” 

“Eventually, if you manage to make this work, they will see a benefit,” she concedes, “But will they stick around long enough? And if they don’t, will you be raising enough money to pay for the welfare programs you want to enact?” she arches an eyebrow at him, “You need to find a way to sell your ideas for the city to people that are used to being told that the socialist liberal agenda you’re setting out doesn’t work; that’s it’s not fair for everyone to pay for other people’s healthcare or education. And a lot of people will not be happy doing that. They will also not be happy being told they are wrong and it will work; especially coming from someone who hasn’t graduated from high school yet.”

“I’m fully expecting them to belittle me, but they are forgetting one thing…”

“Which is?”

“This isn’t a democracy,” Stiles grins at her, “This is the Sith Court of Beacon Hills. I am King Tighearnach; I am not an elected official that needs their approval.”

“You do need their approval,” she cautions him, worried about his sudden casual dismissal of people’s concerns about the changes he may enact, “If they don’t approve, they may leave.”

“There will be those that leave anyway,” Stiles shrugs, “Because they don’t like my politics or don’t like being ruled by a non-human, but that isn’t going to stop me doing what I know is best for my pack, my Court, and the town.”

  
  


  


“Okay,” Derek frowns as he looks over the map of Beacon Hills laid out on the table. He’s in the study with Stiles, Scott, and Drazin, “So, our independent sovereign nation extends over this area, roughly two hundred and thirty square miles.” He lifts his eyes from the map and looks to Stiles, who nods in confirmation. Derek continues, “The town of Beacon Hills is spread out over this third of the land, our Sithen is here on the edge of town at the start of the preserve…”

“Yeah,” Stiles smiles, “But we own all the public buildings, and all the land, including the land that the private houses are built on. While the houses are privately owned, the land they are built on is leasehold. The rental cost for the land has been covered in the homeowner’s association fees for each of the communities. When Beacon Hills was being planned, the town fathers designated that the roads in each of the communities were private and the HOA fees were set to cover the maintenance of the roads and upkeep of the parks. Some of the homeowners have been shocked to find out that the land their house is built on is not owned by them; they didn’t check their title deeds very carefully it seems.”

“What?” Derek barks, “How could they not know?”

“My mom did,” Scott interjects, “I know she was always complaining about how high the HOA fees were because of the land being leasehold. But it made the house cheaper.”

“Yeah, some did, some just assumed the land was included and didn’t pay attention. Anyway, I want to reduce the rental on the land for the homeowners. I was thinking maybe charging a nominal dollar per square metre each month. We’re gonna need to zone some land for more housing to be built if the influx of people doesn’t stop…”

“And,” Drazin interrupts, “You need to expand the Sithen to allow rooms for the nannies, tutors, and other court personnel. They will all need living quarters. You need official reception rooms and a throne room, there needs to be…”

“Yeah, I get that’s how it’s been in the other Courts, but,” Stiles cuts off his Court Advisor, “I don’t want something so…” he searches for the words, “Formal and stuffy, I also don’t want a whole bunch of strangers running around my home.”

“Having help with the kids while you and everyone else is at school or work would be appreciated,” Derek comments.

“And if we had tutors, we could stay home and wouldn’t miss the kids,” Scott adds.

“The court reception rooms, the offices of the household staff, and their living area can be separate from your own private quarters,” Darzin states, “And you should appoint the Ard-Chonstábla, An Tiarna Steward, Tiarna Chamberlain, Máistir an Teaghlaigh, Máistir an Capall, Ard-Chisteoir, Usher an Rí, Tiarna Armas…”

“Why do we need all of these?” Stiles squeaks in horror, and fear of how many more his advisor was about to continue listing.

“The Lord High Constable has command of the King's bodyguards and is responsible for the investigation and punishment of crimes…”

“Fine, that’s my dad,” Stiles interrupts Drazin’s explanation, “He has his living quarters already and his office is in town…”

“He could have an official office here too,” Scott suggests. Stiles shrugs noncommittally before gesturing to Drazin to continue.

“The Lord Steward controls the domestic affairs of the royal household…”

“Scott and Derek, as the Alphas of the pack can be in charge of the domestic affairs, they can hold the position jointly,” Stiles smiles at them.

“What does ‘_controls the domestic affairs’ actually mean?” Derek asks._

“That you have full charge of domestic arrangements, ceremonies, and the administration of the running of the household,” Drazin replies.

“So, next?” Stiles enquires.

“The Lord Chamberlain supervises the departments which support and provide advice to the Sovereign while also acting as the main channel of communication between…”

“That’s you,” Stiles decides.

“No, I can’t, that’s not possible…” Drazin splutters, clearly flustered by Stiles proclamation.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a noble of the Court…”

“You are my advisor; therefore, you should be the one that supervises the department that provides advice and deals with the communications between me and the civil servants making sure that Beacon Hills keeps running. Next.”

“The Master of the Household has charge of the domestic staff, from the Royal Kitchens, the pages and footmen, to the housekeeper and their staff.”

“I thought the An Tiarna Steward dealt with the domestic arrangements?”

“The Lord High Steward does, the Master of the Household ensures that those arrangements are carried out by the staff under them,” the advisor patiently explains.

“We’ll come back to that one later,” Stiles frowns.

“The Master of the Horse deals with all matters related to the King’s horses, hounds, stables, kennels and the transportation of the sovereign…”

“We don’t have any stables or horses, or hounds,” Stiles absently remarks.

“We have cars for transport,” Scott calls out.

“So, we’ll need a driver and mechanic, not a Master of the Horse,” Stiles quips, “What’s next?”

“The Lord High Treasurer is head of your Treasury…”

“So, they’d deal with the collecting of the taxes and expenditure in the running of Beacon Hills?” Stiles seeks confirmation 

“Yes,” Drazin cautiously answers.

“Then that post will be settled once you find me an accountant to act as financial advisor,” Stiles beams at him, “Next.”

“The King's Ushers are those who attend you in the Privy Chamber…”

“In the what?”

“Private apartments,” Derek clarifies, “Like a personal secretary or personal assistant.”

“My slave, Aiden, can carry out those duties,” Stiles rolls his eyes, adding, “I don’t need anyone else to attend me in my Privy Chamber.”

“Your slave cannot be seen to be your Gentleman Usher,” Drazin objects, clearly ruffled that Stiles is not taking the positions of the royal household seriously enough, “I will see if there are any suitable persons to attend you along with your slave. Now, the Lord of Arms has the authority to grant armorial bearings, they also are responsible for recording and certifying genealogies and noble titles.”

“Do we really need…?”

“Of course,” Drazin exclaims, scandalised at the notion of there not being a Lord of Arms, “Every Sith Court has a Lord of Arms, they are required to ensure that the noble lineage is meticulously recorded, and titles and heraldry properly inherited and observed.”

“By ‘every’, you mean the Seelie and Unseelie,” Stiles snorts, “Two Courts following a household structure does not mean every…”

“Every other Sith Court,” Drazin firmly counters, “And it would be advisable for you to have one to ensure that the lineage of the children and their titles are fully documented. You also need a Court Seer, the King’s Guards…”

“Drazin,” Stiles halts his Comhairleoir’s listing of household positions to be filled, “Find someone you think would be suitable for the positions of Lord High Treasurer, King’s Usher, Lord of Arms, tutors – you can get a list of subjects that they’ll need to cover from Lydia, and nannies. My dad can work out the details of the King’s Guard, you said they report to the Lord High Constable and Jordan will be in charge of the security in the Sithen. We won’t have any domestic staff – cooks, pages and footmen, housekeeper and their staff – so we won’t need Master of the Household. We can make our own beds and cook our own food. We will hire staff for the formal events.”

“As you wish,” Drazin acquiesces, cocking his head to side as he draws himself up to his full three-and-a-half-foot height. 

“Now,” Stiles smiles down at the goblinoid, “Once we get the household filled, and everyone knows their positions, as my Lord Chamberlain you will arrange for a formal announcement of changes that I’m making to the education, healthcare, water, power, public transport, and taxation in the Sovereign Nation of Beacon Hills. Time to set the record straight about how our nation will be governed now that it’s a Kingdom and no-longer part of a Republic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Excerpt from Chapter-03
> 
>   
“You should close your mouth, unless you’re looking to catch flies,” Greenberg’s grandmother states, adding, “With all due respect Your Majesty.”  
Stiles closes his mouth. He’s still staring at Greenberg, though his brain seems to have shut down, until he after what seems like hours – but can’t be more than a minute – he blurts out, “Since when have you had horns? And what are you?”  
Internally – he hopes – he grimaces at the question as he silently chastises himself, _‘How Rude!’_  
  

> 
>   
**»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»Ω«««««««««««««««**   

> 
>   
Stiles flops back on the bed, he can feel Danny’s cock pressed tightly against his own as Jackson continues to ride them both; the pressure almost painful as Danny’s knot begins to swell. Jackson rises off their laps one last time, allowing Stiles to pull out before the wolf slams back down and ties himself to Danny.  
“Yeah,” Stiles gasps, “Keep that seed in there,” he smirks up at Jackson as he slides his fingers along the short length the omega’s hardened cocklet. Jackson mewls at the sensation and his body shudders as another orgasm rocks through him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter-03

“You should close your mouth, unless you’re looking to catch flies,” Greenberg’s grandmother states, adding, “With all due respect Your Majesty.”

Stiles closes his mouth. He’s still staring at Greenberg, though his brain seems to have shut down, until he after what seems like hours – but can’t be more than a minute – he blurts out, “Since when have you had horns? And what are you?”

Internally – he hopes – he grimaces at the question as he silently chastises himself, ‘ _How Rude!’_

“I’m half-fae,” Greenberg says, answering the last question first. And really Stiles should have figured that out for himself when Drazin came into the study to tell him that there were two ‘of the people’ here to see him. It’s not like the Sithen would have let any random human make their way to his front door.

“I’m part Satyr and part Boggan, but mostly human,” Greenberg continues, “And my fae heritage only recently kicked in,” Looking pointedly at Stiles he adds, “I think about the time Matt became your Beast Changeling,” and Stiles gets the reference to the time Greenberg walked in on them in the toilets and seeing Matt’s tail and… everything that followed.

“That’s when the dreams started. The physical changes started over the summer, hence the horns,” Greenberg resumes, “Though, really, it turns out they were something more…”

“Something more? What…?” Stiles interrupts.

“My grandson is a Seer.”

“A Seer?” Stiles’ brow wrinkles as his attention flits between Greenberg and his grandmother, “As in like an Oracle? Prophet? Soothsayer?” Given his recent conversations about the royal household positions he should be looking to fill, and the on-going interviews for the positions he agreed to, he begins wonder about the Sithen leading Greenberg and his grandmother to his door; Court Seer wasn’t one of those he thought he needed, but maybe his Sithen has other ideas.

“Yes, and he should have informed you of the vision he had given it is concerning you,” she confirms.

“I did!” Greenberg squeaks, at the disapproving look his grandmother gives him he quickly adds, “Sort of.”

“Okay,” Stiles intercedes, realising that they are still all standing in the reception room he gestures towards the armchairs and suggests, “Why don’t we sit and you can tell me again, and maybe you can make sure I get the point that your grandmother thinks has been missed.”

“So, Stacey, Chris, and their friends are a threat?” Stiles asks once Greenberg reminds him of their conversation a few months back, after the Winter Formal.

“No, not exactly…”

“What Herschel means…”

“Herschel? I thought your name was Nate?” Stiles notices a blush of embarrassment colouring Greenberg as he asks.

“It is; it’s short for Nathan…”

“It’s Herschel Nathan Aaron Greenberg,” his grandmother interrupts, “And what my aynikl means is your Brides and Consorts are not the problem, but they are gonna cause the problem.”

Stiles listens while Greenberg and his grandma, Mrs Kauffmann, explain that Stacey’s and Chris’s little gang holding on to the nails that they now use as rings and basically worshipping him as their saviour is feeding power to the Goddess, through him, and in turn that power then trickles down to him from the Goddess.

Up to this point it all sounded good to him. Then they explain that in the visions, as he becomes more powerful, more people see him as a threat. Humans becoming concerned about the power of supernatural in their midst. The Seelie and Unseelie Courts concerned about the rising power of the new Court of Beacon Hills. The other supernaturals seeing influence that the Sidhe King of Beacon Hills has over his army of human followers…

“Nine high school students aren’t an army,” Stiles snickers at the idea.

“But,” Rochel Kauffmann counters in clipped sharp delivery, “Nine each add another nine, and then you have nine times nine times nine and it keeps continuing until…”

“Okay,” Stiles hurriedly stops her, “I get the point… so, all these factions come to see me as a threat and decide to take action and remove me. We’ve faced that kind of problem before…”

“No,” Greenberg looks at him through haunted eyes, “Not like this. Kate Argent, Gerard and the hunters, The Queen’s Deaths, and her Changelings. None of them are like what’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Stiles squawks, “They already see me as a threat?!”

“No, not yet,” Greenberg tries to explain, “But they will.”

“You can’t stop the humans worshipping you,” grandma Kauffmann explains, “The Goddess wants that, because they are worshipping her through you; in doing so they revitalise and increase her power and that increases your power and influence.”

“But you just said that my power and influence increasing is what will make people see me as a threat and that will bring a shit ton of trouble down on us. I won’t endanger my pack, my family, or the people of Beacon Hills. I’ll do what I need to protect them.”

“Most admirable; however, you would not want to displease the Goddess,” she smiles sweetly at Stiles.

“So,” Stiles draws out the ‘o’ as he looks directly at her, his head slightly tilted to the side, “What exactly would you suggest?”

“What would I know about keeping in the good graces of the Goddess and ensuring that everyone else doesn’t see me as a threat and wants to kill me?” she shrugs, “I’m not omniscient,” nodding towards her grandson Rochel adds, “And neither is the boy.”

“What kind of a Seer are you?” Stiles gripes.

“I’m not, Herschel is. And, it doesn’t mean he knows everything, his Goddess given power grants him glimpses of the possible based on the now. It’s not like he can say ‘okay, show me what happens if they do this’.”

“It’s not like I can control any of it,” Greenberg complains, “I see what I see, and then I have to try and make sense of it. It’s not exactly like I’m watching a video of events as they happened, it’s more like I’m playing charades – a very surreal game of charades – and trying to guess what’s being acted out in front of me.”

“Okay,” Stiles sighs, resignedly accepting the facts presented to him; now he had to figure out what to do.

When Greenberg and his grandmother have left, Stiles turns to his Chamberlain and Comhairleoir.

“Drazin, find out what you can about our part Satyr, part Boggan Seer and his Boggan grandma,” he smiles, “I think someone has already chosen a Court Seer for us.” He adds, somewhat unnecessarily, “And by someone, I mean the Goddess.”

  


  


  


The process of selecting the nannies and the tutors was simple.

Drazin selected twenty-four candidates for the nannies from the supernatural and human population of Beacon Hills. They were interviewed by Scott, Derek, Melissa, and Jackson, who whittled the list down to six. The Lord High Constable, i.e. Sheriff John Stilinski, performed a background check on those six and they were invited back for a second interview. The second interview was with Stiles and Lydia; they chose the final two who would be offered the job, and the back up two who would be offered the job if should either of first choices decline or not work out.

The first person they choose as one of the nannies is Mrs Fizzlewig, Saffron Fizzlewig. She is a Boggan who reminds Stiles of Mrs Doubtfire; only shorter. Originally from the Seelie Court, she joined the Unseelie Court when she married Mr Fizzlewig, Charlie. Though since his death – she didn’t go into detail on how he died, and neither Lydia or Stiles wanted to ask – she hasn’t felt at ease there and is hoping that Beacon Hills can become a permanent residence where they can settle-down, take up the duties of caring for ‘Childlings’, and pass the traditions and lore of Fae Wylde on to them.

The second, Mr Martinez; Kwame Alejandro Martinez, who told them to ‘call me Alex’. He’s a Beast Changeling like Matt. Only where Matt’s animal is a dog, Alex’s is definitely cat; even when not shifted he has the ears and tail of a large cat, possibly jaguar or ocelot given the markings that Stiles glimpsed. He was clearly nervous and talked, animatedly, a lot. Stiles liked him. He is twenty-three years old and was born in New York. His father, Gabriel Martinez, was second generation American whose grandfather moved to the US in the early sixties to escape from Franco’s Spain. Gabriel met Alex’s mother, Abena Assan Martinez, while they were studying at Brooklyn College in the late eighties. He was studying Psychology and she was an international student from Ghana – hence his name Kwame – studying Environmental Sciences. He hasn’t seen them since he escaped from his Keeper beyond the Hedge, feeling that he needs to reacclimatise to life outside of the Unseelie Court first.

The same routine was followed for the position of the tutors. This time though, it was a little more complicated. They needed to make sure that all the subjects required were covered. Drazin selected seventy-two potentials. The first interview panel this time was Melissa, John, Chris, and Natalie; the parents. They had to select twenty-four candidates who through a combination of three or four of them could cover all the subjects to ensure that the pack would be able to graduate. And get a basic grounding in the sociology of the supernatural world; the politics, history, and cultures of the major races – at least those that Drazin indicated were the major races from Stiles’ recollection of the council meeting.

The second interview was again conducted by Stiles and Lydia. This time they had to make sure that they covered every required subject and had a backup for each subject. To ensure that there was a backup tutor for some of the more important subjects they selected six

  


  


  


Ms Julia ‘Jules’ Alexander applied to the high school in Beacon Hills shortly after it was announced that it would be the first Sovereign Nation under the new supernatural accords. Given the trouble she was having finding work in Pierre, South Dakota since it has become known that she is Wiccan and practices the craft she knew that a fresh start was needed.

When the invitation for the first interview arrived – not for a position at the school, but for a place as tutor in the Sidhe Court – she didn’t think twice. She emailed and telephoned her acceptance, then jumped on the next train out of town.

She smiles to herself as she curls one of the long ringlets of her red hair in her fingers and looks down at the letter in her other hand. A fresh start is just what she is getting. She’s going to be a Royal tutor, teaching English, History, and Geography to the Sidhe King of Beacon Hills and his household.

  


  


  


Finally, he can relax. He got the job.

He wasn’t even sure he was gonna make it to the first interview. He created the portal from his home in San Sebastian in the Basque Country – Northern Spain bordering France – to Beacon Hills, but he didn’t account for the Sithen’s magic protecting the town and ended up with a two hour hike from the outskirts of the town to the hotel where his interview was. He had booked himself a room there so he could freshen up before the appointment; well, when he got there he didn’t have any time to freshen up, and not enough magic left after creating the portal half way around the planet to cast something on himself. He was sure he didn’t make a good impression, but he got a second interview; with the Sidhe King.

The second interview didn’t start out so well either.

King Tighearnach is taking a drink of water as he introduces himself, “Hola, I am Juan Solo…” only for the King to spray the water all over the desk and papers in front of him.

The King apologies, saying how he misheard his name and shouldn’t have, he knew who he was interviewing. So, Juan, somewhat used to people doing a double take when they hear his name, suggested they could call him John. That didn’t seem to sit well with either the King or Ms Martin who were interviewing him; they both referred to him as Mr Solo, when they used his name at all.

But he must have done something right, because in his hand he has a letter offering him the position of tutor in Math, Economics, and Spanish. He gets to move to Beacon Hills where he can practice his magic freely and openly.

  


  


  


Emily Knight was tired of moving from one short term teaching post to the next. She wanted something permanent, something that allowed her to put down roots. With her last teaching job coming to an end in Trois-Rivières, Quebec, she reached out to her friend, Dr Alan Deaton, as she knew he had contact with the local supernatural community in Beacon Hills. She was grateful when he replied, “of course, Emmy, I’ll recommend you for a teaching position here.”

It certainly seems to have paid off. Here in her hand she has the offer of a position to tutor the royal household in Biology, Chemistry, Supernatural Sociology, Latin and French.

She can’t wait to get started.

  


  


  


Daniel Schmidt lifts his suitcase into the trunk of the car before closing it with a sigh.

“You’re gonna need to decide soon Dan,” his Alpha reminds him, Jed Montgomery is Alpha of the pack here in Portland, Oregon, “When you get to Beacon Hills you either transfer to the McCall-Hale Pack or to Alpha Boyd’s Pack. You know I don’t want to lose you from our pack, but we both know how much you want to be part of an independent supernatural sovereign nation; so, we know you ain’t gonna be coming back.”

“I know and joining the McCall-Hale Pack would be better for you,” the beta werewolf replies; they know the cachet the Montgomery pack would get from a former member being part of the pack inside the Fae Court, “I just know that submitting to King Tighearnach as my Master would not be a good idea when I’m supposed to be his and Alpha McCall’s tutor.”

“Being part of Vernon Boyd’s pack wouldn’t hurt us either,” Jed snorts, “They are supposed to be close with the McCall-Hales; they live in their territory. Hell, there’s even one the Hale family in Boyd’s pack.”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, let’s get you to the airport; you got a two-hour flight and then a three-hour drive ahead of you.”

Dan jumps into the passenger seat and pulls the car door closed. He’s looking forward to taking up his teaching position as Beacon Hills Court tutor in Social Studies, American government and civics, and helping out with English classes when needed.

And as much as he’d like to join the bigger pack, as their tutor he just can’t. He knows joining Alpha Boyd’s pack would be the right decision.

  


  


  


He’s got a long drive ahead of him. Silver City to Phoenix, Phoenix to LA, LA to Sacramento, and then, finally, Sacramento to Beacon Hills. The last part will be the shortest stretch and should only take him three or four hours.

Still, he has a week before he officially starts his new job as Spanish tutor to the McCall-Hale pack. And it’s not like he hasn’t already made this trip when he went up there for the interviews. The first were-jaguar in Beacon Hills.

Yeah; Jordan Peters is looking forward to taking up his role. And he won’t just be teaching Spanish. He’s also their main tutor in Supernatural Sociology and will be tutoring in Social Studies.

The only thing that he not sure of actually, is living in the Sithen. He has concerns about his cat reacting badly to living in a den of wolves.

  


  


  


He felt it as soon as he set foot on Beacon Hills soil. The pull of the Sithen.

It had been years since he had stepped on Fae territory, let alone a Royal Court. For a moment he was overwhelmed; by a desire to revel in the feel of all that magic surrounding him, and by the fear of rejection.

Gabriel Matthews had never fitted in at either the Seelie or Unseelie Court. For all that he looks the part of a Seelie Sidhe should his emotions overrun him, and his anger roil, then his blood spills as quickly; flowing down his face from his scalp and his Redcap genes are revealed. 

His mother may have been a Sidhe noble of the Seelie Court, but his father was a Redcap foot soldier of the Unseelie Court. He was the illegitimate off-spring of their single night together. Looked down on by the Sidhe of the Seelie because of his Redcap heritage and despised by the Redcaps of the Unseelie because of his Sidhe visage.

As soon as he was old enough, he disappeared through the Hedge and settled in Hamburg, Germany. Blending in with the human society, living as one of them, and hiding his true nature. But at a cost.

A cost he realised as soon as the King of Beacon Hills shook his hand. He may as well have been coated with The Tears; with that single touch he felt the need of physical contact with another Sidhe. He shoved the want down and somehow made it through the interview. The King gave no indication of noticing the strain Gabriel was striving to hide. And he assumes he was successful. He now has the position of tutor in Physics, Math – more specifically the advanced placement subjects – and physical education. And German if they decide to include another language class.

Now he just has to maintain proper decorum in the presence of the Fae, and specifically the Sidhe King, when that need for contact – the touch and caress – with another Fae rises.

  


  


  


Stiles flops back on the bed, he can feel Danny’s cock pressed tightly against his own as Jackson continues to ride them both; the pressure almost painful as Danny’s knot begins to swell. Jackson rises off their laps one last time, allowing Stiles to pull out before the wolf slams back down and ties himself to Danny.

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps, “Keep that seed in there,” he smirks up at Jackson as he slides his fingers along the short length the omega’s hardened cocklet. Jackson mewls at the sensation and his body shudders as another orgasm rocks through him.

As one, Stiles rises, leaning against Jackson’s front, as Danny slips an arm around the blonde’s waist and pulls himself flush against his back. Both peppering his skin with kisses, licks, and nips from their lips, tongue, and teeth.

“Much as I would rather stay here and continue our afternoon sexcapades, I have to meet with Drazin and go through the resumes to pick a Lord High Treasurer,” Stiles grumbles, before Jackson presses their lips together and his tongue demands entrance, which Stiles willingly allows; moaning into the kiss.

“I think our mate has other plans,” Danny breathily chuckles. Pulling back from the kiss, Stiles groans, “Unfortunately, I’ll need to let you take care of those plans. Now, I just need to shower, and find some clean clothes.”

“Maybe you should hire a King’s Usher while you pick your treasurer,” Jackson retorts with a gasp as Danny teases his nipples, “Then they can make sure you have clean clothes readily available.”

“I should just make that Aiden’s responsibility,” he replies, rolling off the bed and padding to their adjoining bathroom.

When Stiles emerges from the bathroom, his hair and skin still damp and towel hanging around his waist. Danny and Jackson are still tied together by Danny’s knot, but they have rearranged themselves on the bed; Danny now laying back against the headboard, with Jackson straddling his thighs and leaning back against his chest. Danny’s arms wrapped around Jackson’s waist.

Turning their heads in Stiles’ direction, Danny rests his chin on Jackson’s shoulder, Jackson enticingly licks his lips and they both stare at him with lustful eyes.

Stiles seriously considers jumping right back into bed with them, but growls in frustration, “No, don’t tempt me. I have to go be all kingly and put someone in charge of making sure our nation has money to pay for everything.” He rummages through his closet, “As soon as I find some clean clothes…”

“Or you could always head to the office in the towel,” Danny quips, Jackson adding, “Or naked, you could just say you borrowed some of the Emperor’s new clothes. You’re the King, and the Master of our pack, who’s gonna object.”

“Ha, I might do that some time, just for the shits and giggles, but right now…” he pulls on a pair of slim-fit slacks and button-down shirt, “I need to look professional, once I’ve selected some candidates from Drazin’s shortlist we’ll be interviewing them immediately; the advantages of Sithen magic.”

He walks over to the bed and kisses them both, one hand clasping the back of their head as his tongue slips between their lips, pulling back he smiles and says, “I love you,” before heading to the door as they reply, “Love you too.”

  


  


  


Ethan couldn’t find any of his pills. He was sure he had another bottle of them. He hoped to hell he had. Or that Deaton could get him more and soon. He left his bathroom and headed through the Sithen to find Issy; hoping he still had some of his supply left.

Scott and Jackson didn’t have a problem while they were breast feeding the kids, they were not gonna get pregnant during their heats. But Isaac and him, they needed to take the little pills from Deaton regularly.

Scott’s heats are at the full moons in June and December. Isaac’s in April and October. And Jackson and Ethan both have their heats in March and September. His heat is too close, it’s less than three weeks away, to risk not taking the pills. Around their Master it was too risky not to take the pills regularly; even when they aren’t in heat.

He finds Issy on his own in the  _littles’_ nursery. He’s sprawled out on the floor, doing what Ethan can only describe as angrily colouring in a book. 

“Hey, Issy, what’s wrong?” he tentatively approaches the curly haired omega.

“School starts next week,” is the grumpy reply.

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be home schooled…”

“We won’t get to play lacrosse!” 

“But we get to stay home with the kids, and…”

“I know, but still,” he huffs, “There’s other friends at school, like Alpha Boyd, Erica and Cora.”

“It’s not like we won’t see them, and maybe we could play lacrosse here,” Ethan sits on the floor beside Isaac and rubs his back.

“Not enough of us for a team,” he continues to sulk.

“Well, we could go talk to our Alphas, tell them how sad it’s making you when thinking about not playing lacrosse.” Isaac half twists around to look at him. “They could then talk to our Master, see if something can be arranged for us to play.”

“You think we might get to go to school, so we can play?”

“I don’t know, but unless we tell them how sad not playing is making you, they won’t know to try and fix it,” Ethan smiles at him, “Will they?”

“I guess.”

“Well, come on,” Ethan stands holding out his hand, “And on they way, can we stop by your room? I’ve ran out of those pills from Deaton.”

“I still have some, we should ask Scott if he can pick up some more when he’s next at the clinic.”

  


  


  


Using the same magic to manipulate the passage of time within the room as he had when Aiden was being held in this part of the Sithen, Stiles ensures that the eight candidates he’s selected all have a day to review his plans and Beacon Hill’s finances; once they’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement. So, despite the fact he is missing his mates, the pack, and the kids, what has been days for him and Drazin will only have been a few hours for everyone else. By the time he leaves this room, having hopefully recruited his Ard-Chisteoir, only a matter of six or seven hours will have passed for everyone else while a week or more may have elapsed for him.

The first four interviews did not go well. 

All four candidates had issues with his plan to take provision for healthcare, water, power, public transport, and education fully under state control.

The first two guys he was supposed to interview both point blank declined their interviews, stating – more or less – that the plans to curb the free market in these areas would leave the nation bankrupt as the higher taxation needed to pay for the provision of services would drive the population out of the state; they could not support the plans and therefore could not consider the position of Treasurer.

The next one, condescendingly, ‘suggests’ that children should leave such planning to grown ups that know better. Stiles asks her if she thinks that the grown ups who run the state provided services of the European countries, whose plans are the basis of his, are children. As she spluttered for an answer, he followed up by asking if she could explain how, if the plans were so foolish that, the state run universal healthcare, education, water supply, power supply, and public transport systems were ranked higher in the provision of those services than those provided by the free market driven private sector? She didn’t have an answer.

The fourth suggested that instead of the state running the services that to offset the cost to the public finances a public-private finance initiative should be considered; where the state would outsource the running of the services to private companies. Stiles listened and questioned him on the idea; what was it likely to cost in comparison to fully running the services through the state? What level of service would the private companies provide and what would the cost to the citizens be? Would it affect their health insurance premiums? Overall, Stiles wasn’t sold on the idea; he still believed that a private company was going to be more focused on maximising their profit over providing what he wanted to be provided as a service to the people.

The fifth interviewee rather took Stiles aback when she started off by stating, “You know your figures are totally wrong, right?”

“Excuse me?” he squeaked in reply, “I had a math genius check those figures and they totally add up!” 

“Yeah, they add up, but that doesn’t make them correct,” she retorted, explaining, “You haven’t taken account of the unemployment rate in Beacon Hills, nor have you accounted for the increase in population that has happened in the last six months since the granting of Sovereignty was announced. With the surge of supernaturals moving to the city you have more children requiring schooling, you have more people that the medical facilities need to cover, you have…”

“Okay, so just how far off are the figures?” he wonders why none of the other interviewees didn’t point this out to him.

“Not that bad, because you also haven’t accounted for corporation tax, or other taxes that provide you revenue; the details you sent me only contained what you would be raising through personal tax.”

“Uh, right,” Stiles cringes as he replies with a rictus smile set on his face, “So, what would you suggest as fair rate for that?”

“Well, corporate tax rates vary around the world, from those that don’t have the rate to as high as fifty-five percent in the likes of the United Arab Emirates, though they tend to only apply the tax to the profits of foreign banks and oil companies. The average rate around the world is around twenty-three percent, and the lowest in those countries that tax company profits is around seven percent. However, it isn’t necessarily a flat rate, it usually will vary depending on the type of business. So, say higher for companies that have more of an impact on the environment and lower for those that don’t. Or lower rates for the types of company you want to attract. You also have to consider if you would give tax breaks to smaller companies, based on the number of employees for instance…”

“Yeah, yeah, I see,” Stiles enthuses; his eyes lighting up as he suddenly sees possibilities for attracting the types of industry he wants in Beacon Hills and discouraging those detrimental to the green haven he wants to build.

“You know, for a King, you’re a lot less stuffier than I expected,” the Sidhe on the other side of the mirror exclaims, then quickly falls silent with her mouth hanging open in shock at her own words. She turns a violent shade of pink with her face contorting as she cringes in embarrassment.

“Muggle born and raised,” Stiles grins, “Still getting used to life at Court and being King, so I’m sure the stuffiness will come. And for an accountant you’re not so boring as I expected,” he jokes back, “How about you send me copy of the budget with the corrections based on what you’ve pointed out I’ve missed and once I’ve gone over it, I’ll be back in touch?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He can see that she is still embarrassed and concerned about her off-the-cuff remark and he tries to reassure her he took no offence. He asks if she has any questions, and shortly after they draw the interview to a close. Stiles certain that he has found his Lord High Treasurer to run the city’s finances.

The rest of the interviews he has lined up go better than the first four did, but none of the interviewees point out the glaring errors that number five did. They all seem a little intimidated being interviewed by King Tighearnach of Beacon Hills. 

It doesn’t matter; Stiles knows that the only one he’ll be offering the position to is Neasa Ó Coileáin, Sidhe (mostly, she is one eighth Boggan and one quarter Eshu; the other five eighths is Sidhe) formerly of the Unseelie Court.

  


  


  


Bobby Finstock listened to the message on his voicemail again. The same thought running through his head. Thank the Goddess.

It was the complete opposite to what he had thought, repeatedly and said very loudly, when he had been informed that his star players would not be returning for their senior year as they were being privately tutored. Now, he had a message from Principle Martin, just a week before the school year started, asking if he would have any objection to the werewolves, McCall, Lahey, Whittemore, Mahealani taking part in the school’s sports program and playing on the team.

He’s quickly returning her call.

“Hello…” he hears her answer.

“I have absolutely no objection to my star players coming back to play,” he rattles off before she finishes saying hello, “We’ve got a state championship to defend…”

“Coach, that’s great,” Natalie interrupts him, “But, we won’t be taking part in the state championships, we won’t be part of the state. We will be playing friendly matches…”

“What?!” he splutters, “But, we’re state champions!”

“Yes, but we will be an independent nation by the time the state championship final comes around, so, the California School Board decided that, as we will not be part of California, it was best we didn’t compete for the title.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t hide the despondency in his voice; he feels like his world just collapsed around him. He knew they were becoming independent; he didn’t think that meant they wouldn’t be defending their title.

“I’ll send you the number to contact their tutor, you can arrange with him when they are needed for practice and matches.”

“Okay,” he replies; wondering what is the point of practices? and for what matches?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #### Excerpt from Chapter-04
> 
>   
“How is this my life?” he moans, laying his phone down on the arm of the couch and scrubbing his face with the palms of his hands.  
“Because you always fight for what you believe to be right,” Danny replies, throwing his arm over Stiles’ shoulder and pulling him towards him, “And you’re usually right.”  
“Usually?” Stiles’ frown is spoiled by the grin his mouth is spreading out in.  
“Yes,” Danny chuckles, “Almost always.”  
“Almost?” Stiles pushes Danny backwards across the couch and hovers over him; both grinning at the other.  
“Yeah,” Danny leans up, pressing his lips against Stiles’, “Probably nine times out of ten…”  
“Oh you,” Stiles exclaims in mock horror as he starts to tickle his mate. Danny convulses in laughter, grabbing on to Stiles’ arms as he tries to stop the tickling onslaught. They both roll off the couch and land on the floor.  
“We should take this to the bedroom,” Danny suggests between giggles, “We don’t want to start something where the kids might wander in.”  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta'd, all mistakes are my own...  
  

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_ “Why shouldn’t corporations deliver benefit beyond shareholders; to its stakeholders – their employees – and its wider community? Why should they just pass the increases of the tax on their profits to consumers and through paying lower wages to their lowest paid employees? Why can’t they pay lower dividends and why can’t their directors do without outlandish six or seven figure bonuses instead?” _

_ “Because the purpose of companies is to make money for their shareholders…” the show’s host counters. _

_ “So, you’re saying that the trickle-down economics doesn’t work? That the purpose of companies is only to make the rich richer and that those profits shouldn’t flow down to the people working to make them or the communities that they are being made in?” _

_ “But they can’t if you are taxing them!” _

_ “But they can, because those taxes are paying to improve the community for the people in the community.” _

Stiles mutes himself, or rather the TV where his interview on the political segment of the local news show was being – for the second time today – screened. He was being grilled over his _economy destroying decision _– that’s their words – to raise corporation tax in Beacon Hills by two percent and daring to say that companies had a duty of care to the communities that they trade in; that they shouldn’t just make money for their shareholders, but that they should take care of all stakeholders in the business, that their employees – and their customers – deserved to be treated equitably too. The interview became almost apoplectic when he stated that the tax would be reduced for companies that were proven to be environmentally friendly.

He probably should have listened to the advice his dad, Drazin, and Neasa gave him. After his plans for the restructuring of the local tax system and the state ownership and running of the local healthcare, water and power supply, and they eventual running of the public transport system he knew he had to give an interview. They advised him to give the interview to the more liberal leaning channel, the interview wouldn’t have been as confrontational as it was if he had. He chose a channel and host that he knew would be against everything he planned; you only had to look at the companies the owner of the channel had interests in. He might as well have been interviewed by Alex Jones or Ben Shapiro. He was belittled, called ‘foolish and uneducated’, and told his ideas were ones that had failed time and again; even when he pointed to where they were ideas that were currently working in several European countries.

He didn’t rise to the taunting, he spoke calmly – even though he was seething inside – and left the shouting and bullying to the interviewer. But he didn’t let the man silence him; when he was shouted over, he just continued talking. He did feel a certain amount of smug satisfaction when the interviewer finally shut up and asked him if he was going to answer the question and he replied, “I just did, but you were too busy shouting to hear it.”

Of course, it didn’t take long for the internet memes to appear after the segment was first screened; those showing him standing firm against the braying ass of an interviewer and those showing him stonewalling and unable to answer a tenacious investigative journalist after the truth. Groaning as he sees another meme of the interview pop up on his twitter feed – this time the interviewer is shown with an old-fashioned gowns of a college professor from the nineteen-thirties and a cane in hand, while Stiles has a dunce’s cap and is being ‘schooled’ in Economics.

“How is this my life?” he moans, laying his phone down on the arm of the couch and scrubbing his face with the palms of his hands.

“Because you always fight for what you believe to be right,” Danny replies, throwing his arm over Stiles’ shoulder and pulling him towards him, “And you’re usually right.”

“Usually?” Stiles’ frown is spoiled by the grin his mouth is spreading out in.

“Yes,” Danny chuckles, “Almost always.”

“Almost?” Stiles pushes Danny backwards across the couch and hovers over him; both grinning at the other.

“Yeah,” Danny leans up, pressing his lips against Stiles’, “Probably nine times out of ten…”

“Oh you,” Stiles exclaims in mock horror as he starts to tickle his mate. Danny convulses in laughter, grabbing on to Stiles’ arms as he tries to stop the tickling onslaught. They both roll off the couch and land on the floor.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” Danny suggests between giggles, “We don’t want to start something where the kids might wander in.”

“True,” Stiles cocks an eyebrow, “But I could always create a barrier around us…”

“Until you lose concentration and it collapses and the kids see us naked with my cock locked in your ass…”

“It could just as easily be you riding my cock!” Stiles protests.

“More often than not it is, when you, or we, are not fucking Jackson,” Danny grins back at him, “But there’s always that one in ten…” Stiles cuts off his retort with an embarrassed growl, adding, “Come on, with our mate having a night with Scott, Isaac, and Ethan; we’ll have to entertain ourselves and I know just whose ass is going to be getting ridden.”

“I do hope so,” Danny’s eyes flash briefly to their wolf state as his excitement grows.

They scramble to their feet and head to their room, hands never stopping from exploring of each other’s body.

  


  
  


  


Scott is on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed.

Isaac and Ethan are underneath him, their hands and mouths teasing and tasting his pecs and nipples. Jackson is behind him, his tongue and fingers exploring and teasing his hole. All three of them are ignoring his hard, dripping and needy cock.

“Guys, please,” he begs them, “One of you please play with my cock.”

“Don’t think we need to,” Jackson lifts his mouth from eating out Scott’s ass, “It’s dripping like a leaky faucet, I’m sure you’ll shoot your load without us touching it.” He returns his oral ministrations to lapping up Scott’s juices flowing from his well rimmed and fingered hole.

“Aww, fuck… guys, please,” Scott pleads, “I need…” the words are lost in a combined moan and growl that rumbles from Scott as Isaac and Ethan both bite at his nipples as Jackson’s perfectly times the press and rub of his fingers over and around Scott’s prostate.

Isaac scrapes his teeth over Scott’s nipple as he pulls back and raising his head level with his mate, his milky breath giggles against Scott’s cheek as he informs him, “Papi, you shot all over my diaper.” Scott’s only response is to take Isaac’s mouth with his own, pressing him back against the mattress as he deepens the kiss, his legs stretching wider as Jackson continues his massage of his prostate and Ethan nips and suckles at his other nipple.

The group are in pile around a very sated Alpha-Omega sprawled on his back in the middle of the bed. His softened cock laying wet and dribbling over his abs, and his nipple swollen and red from the attentions of his bed mates.

“Guys, you’re gonna have to give me a little while for little Scott to rise to the occasion again,” he pants.

“Oh, I think we can get him not so little sooner than that,” Jackson smirks.

“Huh?” Scott frowns, looking at the smirk spread to his other two companions. He sees Jackson stretch over the side of the bed and lift a wooden paddle into view. It’s a small rectangular wooden paddle – bamboo, he thinks – with five holes drilled through it.

“We know; this will get you hard and dripping in no time,” Jackson grins as Ethan and Isaac each grab one of his legs and start to lift them, exposing his ass and raising it to Jackson’s – all too clear – ministrations. “See,” Jackson grins at him, “Little Scott is firming up already.” And it was true, just the thought of that implement raining down on his upturned ass was sending the blood to fill his cock.

THWACK, THWACK, THWACK…

The blows kept landing and his ass feels like it’s on fire, but his cock is hard as the paddle landing on his reddened ass and he’s dripping precum down over his chest. Ethan and Isaac have him nearly doubled over as Jackson swings the paddle again and again.

“Fuck,” he calls out in warning, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to shoot, again, before I’ve fucked any of you.”

“I think you could take a few more slaps,” Jackson teasingly smirks. Scott groans, pushes his legs up and out of Isaac’s and Ethan’s grasp and wraps them around Jackson’s waist; pulling the blond wolf down on top of him.

“Enough,” he barks at the shocked boy sprawled on top of him, “Do you want me to fuck you or not?” Jackson leans forward and kisses him in reply, his tongue pushing into Scott’s mouth before the dark-haired wolf takes command of the kiss.

Scott has Isaac whimpering as his tongue swirls around his mate’s little inch-and-a-half hardon and balls that he’s mouthing, while Jackson’s rim catches on his knot as the blond wolf fucks himself on his cock, burying it deep inside him, and makes-out with Isaac. Ethan has his lips fastened around Jackson’s cocklet and balls, sucking and teasing them while he rubs his own little cock against Scott’s hand. The rubbing, grinding and fucking increases in pace as their passion rises and their making-out becomes as frantic as their need for the release they’re chasing; all too soon they crash over the edge. Isaac filling Scott’s mouth, Scott filling Jackson’s ass, Jackson’s load flooding into Ethan as Ethan spills over Scott’s hand.

After cleaning up in the over-sized bathtub, they curl up together in the large bed; their hair damp, but the need for intimate contact sated. The scent of each other still clinging to each of them. Marking them as pack, family, and lovers.

  


  
  


  


Derek gives up on reading the book in his hands after realising he’d read the same paragraph four times. His mind wasn’t really on reading, nor was his heart. He’d already wandered the halls, dropping in on the nursery to check on the kids, only to be assured by Mrs Fizzlewig that, “th' bairns ur fest asleep, as shoods ye be”, before ushering him from the room.

He drops the book on the table and makes his way back to his room, his feet feeling heavier with each step. It’s not as if he doesn’t know why he’s reluctant to go to his own bed. His own empty bed. Both his mates are with the other omegas, having a night to themselves. He misses them.

Opening his door, he’s about to step inside when he turns at the sound of the rapid pad of footsteps coming down the hall behind him to see Aiden and Matt running towards him.

“Alpha,” they softly call to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“N…nothing,” Matt blushes, “We just…erm,” he trails off.

“We thought that, well, our mate is with your mates and…” Aiden looks at his feet as his words dry up to.

“We thought you might like company,” Matt finishes, looking up at him hopefully.

He knows that they can feel he is missing his mates as much he can feel they are missing Ethan, and that all three of them are feeling embarrassed about it as it’s only one night.

“Come on,” he smiles at them, “I think we can help each other get a good night’s sleep.”

  


  
  


  


John groans as he finds himself pushing forward into the velvet heat of Melissa as behind him, Chris pushes into the tightness of his ass. Despite the prepping that Chris had done, John still winced at the initial stretch he felt as the head of Chris’s cock breached the ring of muscle.

With his arms either side of Melissa laying below him, he held his weight off her body; as he peppered her neck with soft kisses he relaxes, allowing Chris to push further into him as the man leans over him and turns to kiss his cheek before turning his attention to Melissa’s waiting lips.

John pulls his shaft back from Melissa’s warm embrace and impales himself further on Chris’s cock; slowly, he rocks his hips back and forth.

“Fuck,” he gasps as the pleasure increases.

“I think you’ll find we are,” Melissa laughs, turning to take her own kisses from his lips. Chris grins at him from behind, before adding his own kisses to John’s lips and the pace of their encounter quickens with their passion.

  


  
  


  


Liam stretches out over his mate, his knees on the bed on either side of Jordan’s torso as he moans around Jordan’s thick cock in his mouth and hisses as his mate’s hands grasp his spanked red ass and pull his heated cheeks apart. The moaning his renewed as he feels the wet tip of Jordan’s tongue tease his hole.

“Gotta get you opened up,” the words hot and breathy against his puckered ring before the wet tongue breaches through; into the tight, hot cavern.

Liam moans, sucking on the hard, taut flesh between his lips as he cants his hips back trying to get more of the flexible tongue inside him. The SMACK to his already spanked ass causes him to hiss, and Jordan chuckles, “I think it’s time for me to fill you up properly.”

Liam lips release Jordan’s cock, which smacks against the collared dragon’s abs, and loudly whines, “Please!”

  


  
  


  


“Miss Coileáin…” 

“Ms. Ó Coileáin,” Neasa corrects the reporter.

“Ms.”, he smiles at her, “You’ve recently been appointed as,” he checks his notes for her title, “Ard-Chisteoir,” stumbling over the pronunciation.”

“It might be easier all round if you all just referred to me as the King’s Lord Treasurer,” she smiles back.

“Yes, well,” he clears his throat, “As Lord Treasurer, I understand that you’ve been tasked with working out the financing of the King’s outlandish plans…”

“What’s so outlandish about these plans?”

“Well, free healthcare, education, power, water…”

“Let me stop you there,” she curtly interrupts, “None of those are going to be free. They all have to be paid for, and healthcare and education will be paid for through increases in local taxes. Just as they are in countries in Europe where they provide an excellent service that is free at the point of use; so, no one ends up bankrupt because of an unexpected stay in hospital. Now, if someone wants to have an elective medical procedure carried out, they will need to pay for that.”

“But why should I pay someone else’s medical bill?”

“You’re not paying someone else’s medical bill,” she firmly states, “You and everyone else is paying their own local health insurance. One that covers any pre-existing conditions, one that doesn’t require you to have a medical exam beforehand to decide if you will be covered, and one that will cover the entire cost of any treatment you need.”

“But we will still need to pay for health insurance, to cover us outside of Beacon Hills. How can you justify people needing to pay two separate health insurance premiums?”

“Neither King Tighearnach nor I expect people to need to pay two lots of health insurance. The small local tax increase for healthcare will fully cover all people within Beacon Hills and being treated within Beacon Hills. People working outside of Beacon Hills will need health insurance to cover any emergency treatment while outwith Beacon Hills. We expect that, if they are there for work, there employer will cover this; after all, they are there at their employer’s request. If they are on vacation, you purchase insurance to cover you on holiday already; it’s not an additional cost.”

“And what about the local government taking over the power and water companies?” the reporter rapidly asks, “How can putting people’s jobs at risk…”

“No jobs are being put at risk,” Neasa smiles at him, even though her brow furrows slightly.

“But his plans are to close down the existing power plant…”

“No, the King’s plan is to change the power source from the existing fossil fuel to a renewable energy source. Better for the environment and better for the people of Beacon Hills quality of life. The workers at the power plant will be retrained in their jobs as needed so that they can continue to work at the plant…”

“But the cost…”

“Are you saying that a company should not train it’s employees so they can continue to do their job? Are you advocating that as technology changes a company should just replace its workforce and treat them as nothing more than a resource to be used and discarded? Treated as a thing and not as a person?”

“Well, no, but…”

“No. And with the power plant and the water company taken into state control we are not looking to pay dividends to shareholders. The people we are looking to benefit are the main stake holders of the companies; the employees and the consumers. So, we train the employees and pay them a fair wage. And, with no shareholders to pay, we can keep the price to the people lower. The cost of the infrastructure will be covered by tax revenues, and that will leave households paying for the amount they use…”

“But the cost…”

“Is going to mean that the sovereign nation is running at a loss for the first few years, especially as the accounts I have seen show that the city was already running a deficit. But, even with the increases in tax that we will be implementing, in the long term the people of Beacon Hills will be better off financially, have a better quality of life and then we will reduce the deficit.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s something we’d all like to see, but I have to say it sounds like a fantasy…” the reporter says turning to the camera to end the interview.

“Well, you used to think that the Fae Courts and werewolves were fantasy, you now know those to be true,” Neasa states smiling, “So, a more equal and fairer society built on equal respect and support shouldn’t be dismissed. With our King’s policies, we will build that society.” She ensures she gets the final word.

  


  
  


  


“Why do we need to be up so early?” Liam whines before taking another forkful of bacon and eggs into his mouth, “I thought part of the reason for having private tutors for the pack was to schedule things to suit us.”

Most of the pack are sitting around the dining table as Scott, Jackson, Isaac, and Ethan finally join them and begin filling their plates – for the first time, while the others are onto their second – having helped the nannies with the kids.

“Liam,” Stiles pointedly looks at the young beta, “It’s only just after nine o’clock. It’s not early. Lessons start in an hour, you wanna stay in bed longer, fine; just don’t complain if you miss out on breakfast.”

“And,” Lydia adds as she and Allison walk into the room, “The classes have been tailored around us. Some of the classes we will all be in and others will be only two or three of us. Every hour there is a fifteen-minute break. So, everyone’s classes are scheduled as three in the morning, and two in the afternoon:

    * Morning classes are:
      * 10:00 to 11:00
      * 11:15 to 12:15
      * 12:30 to 13:30
    * Lunch is 13:30 to 15:00 
    * Afternoon classes are:
      * 15:00 to 16:00
      * 16:15 to 17:15

So, there are five hours of lessons a day, but as the class sizes are smaller the tutors can pay more attention to each of us, and any subject we are having difficulty grasping.”

“And the breaks mean we shouldn’t burn out, and with the longer lunch we get time to eat together and spend time with the kids,” Scott adds.

“There will be variations on the after-lunch sessions when it involves heading to the school for lacrosse,” Stiles reminds them, “Plus, we won’t be having all the in-service days or holidays that the school will have.”

“What?!” almost everyone exclaims, turning to their King with shock.

“To cover the supernatural studies, on top of the regular curriculum and keep the schooling to five hours a day, we are increasing the tutoring days from one hundred and eight a year to two hundred,” Lydia calmly states, “The extra twenty days will be scattered through the year, I would think you won’t really notice them.”

The general grumble around the table from the pack suggests they think otherwise.

“Now,” Lydia smiles at them, “This morning we all have two hours of Supernatural Sociology, and no Stiles, that is not about the TV show, with Mr Matthews. Then we have separate classes for an hour before lunch. Here are our schedules that I worked out with Ms Alexander.” She hands everyone a laminated sheet with their individual schedules. As Stiles frowns at the sight of the schedules she adds, “Don’t worry, the laminate is a bio-degradable film, the paper is made from a certified sustainable and managed source, and the ink is not petroleum based but soy-based. So, we have aimed to minimise the impact to the environment with these and everything produced for the classes.”

“Great,” he beams at her. Knowing the ‘we’ means Ms Alexander acting effectively as principal of their tutor group, Mr Matthews as deputy, and Lydia representing Stiles.

“I think we need to hire more nannies,” Scott says around a mouthful of sausage, “Especially if we are going to be playing lacrosse and have overnight stays for games.”

“How many?” Stiles asks, worrying about increasing the number of non-pack members in his household and living in their home with them.

“Four more, for now,” Lydia answers, “Six should be able work out a schedule to handle taking care of seventeen three-year-old children; even when they include fey and werewolves.”

“We still have the other two we selected from before, we can see if they still want the position,” Stiles suggests, “And we can have Drazin check to see if there are any other suitable candidates to interview.”

  


  
  


  


“They’re moving us out of Beacon Hills!” Stacy hisses, a mixture of whispering and screeching at her boyfriend Chris and their friends, tears starting to trickle down her face with the distress she is feeling.

“My parents too,” one of the others adds, followed by a chorus of, “Me too,” from a couple of the others.

“I don’t want you to go…” Chris frowns in thought, “But what if it’s what the Goddess wants? You know, to spread the word, to tell more people about her and what she can do through Stiles, our King.”

Greenburg turns and walks away when he notices them looking at him; they probably realised he could overhear their conversation. Either that or they noticed his horns. Not something he can easily hide, not unless the school would let him wear a hat in every class.

As he walks along the corridor to his first class he thinks, this is how it begins. Just like his grandma said. Nine times nine times nine, and so on. Maybe he should say something, encourage them to convince their parents not to move. Yeah, some chance of that happening. Or maybe doing that and concentrating the belief in Stiles here is what causes everything he’s seen. How is he supposed to know what his best course of action, or inaction, is?

Arriving at his class he’s greeted by more stares. ‘Oy vey ist mir’, he sighs internally; he feels uncomfortable under the glare of attention his physical changes are garnering. No-one, save Coach Finstock, ever paid any notice of him. Maybe he should ask about the position of Seer an Rí, assuming that Stiles… King Tighearnach is actually considering having a Seer in his Royal Household. His grandma believes he is, given someone has been looking into their family line; and his bubbe is never wrong.

  


  
  


  


“_An Elven-maid there was of old,  
A shining star by day:  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
Her shoes of silver-grey.  
A star was bound upon her brows,  
A light was on her hair  
As sun upon the golden boughs In Lórien the fair.  
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,  
And fair she was and free;  
And in the wind she went as light  
As leaf of linden-tree…”_

“Is he singing about the Goddess?” Caitlin interrupts Isaac’s reading, he half closes the book in his hands and looks down at where the children gathered around him are colouring in the pictures in their books or drawing with the crayons on sheets of paper.

“It’s Galadriel!” shouts Erin, before Isaac has a chance to answer.

“**No!**” growls Michael, “**It’s the song of _Nim_-_row_**-**_del_**,” he carefully enunciates each syllable, looking up from the picture he’s colouring, “Oma-Issy said so.”

“Don’t you think they are a little young for the adventures of The Fellowship?” Derek smiles at his mate from the doorway, “The are only three-years-old. And shouldn’t you start with The Hobbit?”

“No, daddy,” Laura protests, “We want to hear the story Oma is reading. He says it’s one of his favourites!”

“Oh,” Derek smiles down at his daughter.

“I was reading it to myself when they asked me to read it to them,” Isaac informs his Alpha before protesting, “And you can never be too young to enjoy The Lord of the Rings! Scott and Stiles would agree with me.”

“I’m sure they would,” Derek chuckles, “But, I doubt they were only three when they first heard the tales; there are some parts that might be too scary for _little-ones_ to be reading or hearing about.”

“Gand Elf died fighting a monster in the mines,” Michael adds, “It wasn’t scary.”

“It’s scary in the film,” Isaac pouts.

“There’s a film?!” the kids practically scream.

“Can we watch it? Can we?” Michael demands of his alpha-father.

“One day,” Derek answers.

“When?” his eldest son pushes.

“When I decide you are old enough.”

Michael frowns at his father’s answer.

  


  
  


  


“Today we will revise Prime Factors and Factorization,” Gabriel Matthews states as he sits back in his chair, “So, tell me, what is the Prime Factorisation of one-hundred-and-thirty-two?” he asks as he looks at the students taking his class in Algebra; Lydia, Danny, and King Tighearnach.

“Your Majesty?” he ignores Lydia’s hand; he’s not surprised that her hand was first into the air, she is the most adept at his classes and ahead of the others. When the King turns his head to Lydia’s raised arm, Gabriel continues, “I am certain Ms Martin knows the answer, but I am sure both Mr Mahealani and yourself also know.”

“I’ve told you not to call me Your Maj,” Stiles gripes before adding “Two squared times three times eleven.”

“Very good, Your…” with a cough Gabriel stops himself from formally addressing his King, “Stilinski.”

  


  
  


  


“Blessings, class,” Julia Alexander called out as she entered the room, heading to table that everyone was sitting around, her arms filled with books.

“Blessed Be, Ms Alexander,” Scott, Jackson, Liam, Isaac, Ethan, Aiden, and Matt respond as the eight copies of the book clatter onto the table.

She picks up one of the copies of the book, one that has coloured post-it notes sticking out from several pages; and opening it she begins to read, “I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms, I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fibre and liquids – and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.”

“Invisible Man is a novel by Ralph Ellison that was first published in 1952,” she says, half-closing the book in front of her and looking around the table at the faces staring back, “It tackles many of the societal and philosophical issues facing African Americans early in the twentieth century. It is going to be the book most of your work in this class will be from over the semester as we study the themes and look at how things have changed, or have not changed, since the book was first published,” she smiles at the class, “Now, if each of you will take a copy, today we will read and discuss the Prologue. Who wants to begin?”

“Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows…” Scott picks up from where Julia stopped reading, everyone with their head down as they follow in their own copy.

  


  
  


  


None of the ‘class’ rooms were big enough for everyone that was to attend Jordan Peters’ class. So, he was making his way to the pack den, as instructed, where everyone could comfortably sit. He has his laptop under one arm, it contains all his notes and the overview he intends to present today.

The closer he gets to the den, the more he feels on edge; his cat picking up on the stronger scent of ‘wolf’.

“Are you okay?” King Tighearnach asks him as he crosses the threshold, “You look a little pale.”

“Yeah,” he croaks, “Yes, Your Majesty,” he smiles weakly as he adds, “My cat is still getting used to being in a wolf-pack’s den…”

“Ahh,” the King frowns, “I should probably get another room for this class to take place in…”

“Maybe next time we should use the Umbral Room,” Danny suggests, “That should be big enough, and it does tend to become whatever you need at the time.”

“Yeah,” turning to Jordan the King asks, “Would you rather we headed there now? Or…?”

“Here should be fine,” he replies, “As everyone is already settled.”

“So, today I am going to cover the basics of the structure of the Council of Thirteen…” Jordan carefully picks his words as he describes the Thirteen, “There are the core members who are most active in the Thirteen,” and where the power is consolidated, he thinks to himself, “These are, the Emissary Council, the Hunter Authority, and the Werewolf Senate. The next most powerful members, though with less influence and agency within the Thirteen than the core three, are the Magister College, and my own affiliate The Nine Tribes. After these are The Department, also known as Section 31…”

“Wait?! What?!” the King interrupts him.

“Nothing to do with science fiction,” Jordan smiles, “Though they are comprised of personnel of government agencies from several nations. The other Thirteen member at this level of influence is the Therianthropic Congress, a confederacy of the minor shapeshifting races: like the bears, ravens, rats, dogs, monkeys, horses, sharks, etcetera. These I’d follow with two of races that have only involved themselves once in my lifetime in Council Thirteen affairs, The Parliament of the Evanuris and the Convention of Thorns, the fae and the vampires.”

“After these are The Court of Celestia and the Abyssal Courts,” he has debated with himself over even mentioning the final four, but in the end includes them, “As you can probably guess, these are the angels and demons. They rarely involve themselves in Council business anymore, certainly not in my lifetime or that of my even my grandparents.” He pauses briefly, considers not including the final two before disregarding the thought, “The final two members have not be involved with the Thirteen, even though they each still have a seat on the Council, for so long that even the oldest of the Sidhe or the Vampires cannot recall when they last took their place. The Capitoline Triad, their race is called Quiante; they are said to have shaped the evolution of humans. The council name is all I know about the final Council Thirteen members, The Silent Ones.”

He sees the King scribble as he talks, though he is clearly paying attention; while it looks like an onion, it is a diagram of the council.

  


  
  


  


“I can still smell your arousal,” Jordan smirks at the werewolf seated across the table from him.

“Likewise, Cat, it’s not like I’m the only one that needed to get out of the Sithen this morning,” Daniel grumbles back before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a deep, long, slug of his cold beer. The beta wolf shifts uncomfortably in his seat and tries to surreptitiously adjust the hard length of his cock along his thigh.

They had both been setting up for their classes that morning when the scent of Jackson and Ethan going into heat blasted through the Sithen. There were very few males, supernatural or human, that were not affected by the scent. Those that were not pack, Jordan, Daniel, Kwame, and Juan could not remain. Drazin, the Sheriff, and Herschel, the King’s Seer, were not affected; at least not noticeably affected.

For the next few days, while classes are suspended until the heat is over, the four of them are on paid leave. Herschel is helping Mrs Fizzlewig look after the kids, along with Julia and Emily, while Drazin and Neasa are keeping things running in King Tighearnach’s absence.

Jordan, Kwame, and Juan have a suite here in the hotel for the duration. Daniel has his room at Alpha Boyd’s residence. He is – technically – a member of Alpha Boyd’s pack. Everyone agreed that it would be difficult for him to maintain authority in his classes if he were a beta to one of his students and submissive to another. And given the affect the scent of Jackson’s and Ethan’s heat is having on him, even now, such temptation into improper teacher-student relations is best avoided. 

Not that it would be impossible to maintain his authority and resist temptation, just difficult. Especially as the hardness pressed against his leg by his pants is in part due to the thoughts of what submitting to the Pack Master, his King, could entail.

So, until King Tighearnach and Alpha-Omega McCallHale graduate, at least, he is a member of Alpha Boyd’s pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #### Excerpt from Chapter-05
> 
>   
“Mrs Heather Murphy,” Mrs Fizzlewig exclaims as she enters the children’s nursery, “Ah dinnae think such language is appropriate in front of the bairns!” Saffron was not sure why the two new nannies were employed, they both seem ill-suited to be left looking after young impressionable minds. She was constantly having to check on them to ensure that they were not causing more mayhem than their charges.  
She had raised her concerns with both Alphas. Alpha-Omega Scott and Alpha Derek McCall-Hale had looked at each other and Alpha-Omega Scott smiled before turning to her and saying, “Mrs Fizzlewig, I am sure as their Supervisor that you are more than capable of overseeing the running of the nursery and bringing the other three nannies up to your high standard.” And she has no intention of failing to live up to their faith in her; she will drag her subordinates up to her standards by the scruff of their necks if she has to.  
  
“Mrs Fizzlewig, I assure you that I was not using any inappropriate words in front of the children,” Heather counters.  
“Ah heard ye use the B-L-O-O-D-Y word,” she spells out.  
“I was telling Diarmaid that if he falls off the bed with all that jumping, he could get a bloody nose,” Heather huffs.  
“Not bloody like in daddy’s film,” Diarmaid says laughing, “You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off…”  
Suddenly all the other children in the room are jumping around laughing as they cackle, “Blow the bloody doors off!”  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

“Mrs Heather Murphy,” Mrs Fizzlewig exclaims as she enters the children’s nursery, “Ah dinnae think such language is appropriate in front of the bairns!” Saffron was not sure why the two new nannies were employed, they both seem ill-suited to be left looking after young impressionable minds. She was constantly having to check on them to ensure that they were not causing more mayhem than their charges.

She had raised her concerns with both Alphas. Alpha-Omega Scott and Alpha Derek McCall-Hale had looked at each other and Alpha-Omega Scott smiled before turning to her and saying, “Mrs Fizzlewig, I am sure as their Supervisor that you are more than capable of overseeing the running of the nursery and bringing the other three nannies up to your high standard.” And she has no intention of failing to live up to their faith in her; she will drag her subordinates up to her standards by the scruff of their necks if she must.

“Mrs Fizzlewig, I assure you that I was not using any inappropriate words in front of the children,” Heather counters.

“Ah heard ye use the B-L-O-O-D-Y word,” she spells out.

“I was telling Diarmaid that if he falls off the bed with all that jumping, he could get a bloody nose,” Heather huffs.

“Not bloody like in daddy’s film,” Diarmaid says laughing, “You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off…”

Suddenly all the other children in the room are jumping around laughing as they cackle, “Blow the bloody doors off!”

“Why were the doors covered in blood?” Lucas asks.

“I’m sure ah dinnae ken,” Mrs Fizzlewig replies, noting that Lucas’s brother Michael rolls his eyes at the question. Seeing that Michael is about to explain, she quickly cuts the three-and-a-half-year-old off, saying, “Noo bairns, that includes ye Michael, that’s enough o' that nonsense. It’s time all three-year-olds were in bed.”

“I’m three-and-a-half,” Michael loudly proclaims, smiling in triumph.

“That is still three-years-old,” Heather points out, “It’s not four or five.”

“Exactly,” Mrs Fizzlewig adds.

“I want Oma to read to me,” Michael pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning.

“It’s my turn to read you to sleep,” Isaac says from the doorway, “Though no-one is in bed yet, and I was going to read you more of what Frodo and Samwise were up to…”

“And Lego-lass?” Lucas calls as Michael says, “And Ara-gone?”

“Yes, Legolas, Aragorn, and all the others,” Isaac grins in reply, “Once you have all brushed your teeth, washed your faces, put your pjs on, and gotten into bed.”

There’s a sudden clatter of little feet on the floor as the kids all run for the bathroom.

  
  


  


“We’ve only just celebrated New Year, why did I decree that January 15th would be our Independence Day?” Stiles bemoans his own decision.

“Because it was the day after the negotiations on the agreements between the Náisiún Osnádúrtha Cnoic Beacon are to be completed by,” Drazin reminds him.

“Just as well we completed those negotiations before the Winter Solstice,” Stiles smiles, “And only have the ceremonial signing to do on the fourteenth.”

“There is still some resentment over the changes to the recognised holidays,” the sheriff remarks, “Some people really like Thanksgiving dinner.”

“No one is stopping them having a dinner,” Stiles frowns, “But, we are not recognising that day, or Columbus Day, as a holiday; we are not celebrating the genocide and conquest of Native Americans by colonists.”

“But…”

“We still have the same number of public holidays,” Stiles insists, “They just fall differently. In January we have New Year, Independence Day, and Martin Luther King Jr Day. In February we have Imbolc. In March we have Ostara and Cesar Chavez Day. In May we have Beltane and Memorial Day. In June we have Midsummer. August, we have Lughnasad. In September, Mabon. There is Samhain in October, Veteran’s Day in November, and then Yule in December. So, people aren’t losing anything; where the actual date falls on a Saturday or Sunday, the next weekday is the holiday.”

“For ten of those fourteen holidays you’ve insisted that everything closes…”

“Except for health, fire, and police services,” Stiles interrupts, “The staff who work those holidays get to take another day in lieu.”

“Yes, and the other four non-mandatory holidays you’ve stated those days are to be added to everybody’s annual leave entitlement; so, they can take the holiday that day or another.”

“So, everyone wins,” he defends his decision.

“Some businesses don’t see it that way,” the sheriff points out, “They think they are losing profits as there are a mandated twenty paid days annual leave, plus fourteen paid public holiday days; thirty-four days leave that an employee has to paid not to work.”

“One,” Stiles counters, “Those annual leave days are pro-rata; an employee has to be contracted to work forty-hours a week for an employer to be forced to give at least twenty days. Someone working only sixteen hours a week would be entitled to a minimum of eight days paid annual leave. It is hardly unusual if you look at what most other countries offer…”

“But…”

“And secondly,” Stiles doesn’t allow the rebuttal while he’s still making his counter argument, “Studies show that the happier your employees are the more productive they are and actually increase your profits. Giving your employees paid vacation days is one way to make them happier; that makes it better for your profits.”

“Which studies?” 

Stiles frowns at his father’s question.

“There’s the study carried out as a collaboration between the Social Market Foundation and Warwick’s Centre on Competitive Advantage in the Global Economy. It was authored by an Associate Professor in the Department of Economics at Warwick University. There is also a study by Canada Life Group and another by Boston Consulting Group, and…”

“Okay, you’ve clearly done your homework on it,” the sheriff concedes.

“No,” Stiles smirks, “Neasa and Drazin did the research; Lydia and I just read the reports they wrote and decided that workers should be treated better and fairly rewarded for their effort. No point having advisors and not listening to them,” he shrugs, “The studies show that companies that respect and reward their employees see a rise in productivity and profits.”

“It sounds plausible,” the Sheriff concedes, with a hint of scepticism in his voice.

“Because it’s true, dad,” Stiles all but growls.

  
  


  


“Aw, you should have seen Michael’s face when he proudly told Mrs Fizzlewig that he was three and a half,” Isaac chuckles as he’s cuddling into Scott and Derek in their bed. Scott’s face turns from the crooked smile that he had been showering Isaac with to a frown. “What’s wrong?” Isaac asks.

“Michael and Lucas are three-and-a-half,” Scott slowly states, “But I gave birth to them in June twenty-twelve; that’s only two-and-a-half years ago. How are my… how are all the kids… a year older than they should be?”

Derek and Isaac both slowly sit up in bed as frowns crease their brows.

“I know the kids are three, but you’re right, that’s a year older than they should, could be,” Derek growls, “How is that possible?”

“Is it like when Ethan’s kids were born?” Isaac hypothesizes, “You know, when the Sithen somehow made his pregnancy shorter.”

“But why?” Scott asks, “Why would it make the kids age faster?”

“Are they just aging faster?” Derek wonders aloud, “Or, are they developing faster? We need to talk to our Master.”

The three of them are quickly out of bed and pulling on the nearest pair of pants, Derek and Scott over their bare asses, and Isaac over his diaper, before heading out the door towards Stiles’, Jackson’s, and Danny’s room.

“Scott?!” Derek calls out, trying to warn his mate, who pays no heed and barges straight into their master’s bedroom.

Derek and Isaac come to a stop behind Scott, as their gaze falls on the three mates on the large bed. Jackson on all fours, in nothing more than a sheer, mesh, sky-blue, mini Babydoll that if he was standing would barely cover his ass. As it is the piece of lingerie, is riding up over his ass as Stiles’ hands grip his waist as he thrusts in and out of Jackson’s wet hole. Danny is kneeling in front of Jackson and his knot is clearly caught behind Jackson’s teeth as the blond wolf swallows down the copious load flooding his mouth.

“There better be a good reason for this interruption you three!” Stiles grunts his warning as he unloads his release into Jackson’s boy pussy.

“I…” Scott stammers, unable to look away from the stretch of Jackson’s mouth around Danny’s knot.

“Of course, maybe they just wanted to join in…” Danny grins.

“No,” Derek barks at his beta, before turning to Stiles and adding, “Master, Scott came to a realisation regarding the children and needed to talk with you. He should have knocked and waited to be given permission to enter,” he growls at Scott’s ear, “But, I guess in his anxiousness he forgot himself.”

“Anxiousness?” Stiles frowns, pulling out of Jackson’s ass, leaving Danny still locked in their mate’s mouth. “What’s wrong with our kids?” he asks walking towards the trio.

“They’re a year older than they should be,” Scott rushes out as he finally pulls his eyes from Jackson and Danny on the bed and he explains his epiphany.

The concern that rises in Danny causes his knot to deflate faster than normal and he is quickly pulling free of Jackson’s mouth.

“Our kids are all a year older than they should be?” Jackson asks between stretching his mouth from side to side after it being locked around Danny.

“Yeah,” Derek growls.

“It can’t be an outside attack,” Stiles states, “The Sithen wouldn’t allow it, but why would the Sithen age up our kids? Unless…”

“Unless what?” Danny and Derek ask simultaneously.

“Well, once the kids are old enough, they are gonna stop feeding from their Omas; right? So, if either of these two wanted, for whatever reason, to stop breast-feeding…”

“What!? No!?” Jackson and Scott both deny, while both turning red and looking guilty. “Not exactly,” Jackson sheepishly adds, as Scott says, “Not really, not just now…”

“Jackson?” Stiles quizzes his mate.

“I… even… I…” Jackson huffs in embarrassment before finally word vomiting, “I wasn’t even fitting into the AA-cup bras anymore and had to get an A-cup and I just wished, not really even wished just thought for a little while that if I wasn’t still breast-feeding that they’d shrink back down a little and be less breast like and I swear, I just thought it for a little while and I never wanted anything to change the kids…”

“Okay, relax, breathe,” Danny hugs him from behind, pulling the near hyperventilating wolf against him.

“Scott?” Derek pushes for his mate’s story.

“Well… like Jacks I had this thought, it’s just I know that because we’re breast-feeding we don’t have to take the birth control Deaton makes for us, and that as the kids get older and taking less milk from us the chances of getting pregnant will increase, and I was thinking that in a couple of years or so I’d probably be pregnant again and that it might be nice…”

“You want to be pregnant again?” Stiles asks, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Not just now,” Scott exclaims, “In a few years, after college…”

“Would that mean I’d need to stop…” Isaac timidly starts to ask.

“No Issy,” Scott pulls his mate against him, “You and Ethan don’t take our milk that often, so, feeding you won’t produce enough to stop me getting pregnant.

“Or stop mine shrinking back down to a less noticeable size like Scott’s,” Jackson adds.

“Yours are less noticeable than you think,” Scott quips.

“Says the man who’s triple-A.”

“Somewhere between triple-A and double-A,” Scott shrugs.

“So, now we know why the Sithen might think that it should help our children develop faster,” Stiles interrupts the omegas talking about their breasts, “We can ask Deaton to come and check them to make sure they’re okay, and the Sithen can stop accelerating their aging process; because their Omas don’t really want them to grow up so fast. Do they?”

“No!” Scott, Isaac, and Jackson all shout in near unison.

“So, now that’s settled, I’m sure Derek can administer a suitable punishment back in your own room,” Stiles smiles at Scott.

“Punishment?” Scott yelps, “But I didn’t mean to make the Sithen age the kids!”

“Not for that,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “For barging in here with knocking or waiting to be invited in. We were in the middle of some private sexytimes.”

“Come on, Scott,” Derek hides his smirk, “I know just the punishment for you.” He grabs his mate’s hand and leads him, and their mate Isaac, out of their master’s bedroom.

  
  


  


He was sitting quietly enjoying his lunch, alone, at the same table in the cafeteria like he always did. The scrape of the chair against the floor across the table from him was the first indication he had of something being… _off_.

Chris…, Nathan wished he could remember the guy’s name, places his tray on the table before sitting in the seat. He’s the only one of The Nine left in Beacon Hills. The eight other members of the self-styled Brides and Consorts of Stiles Stilinski dragged screaming, kicking, and crying from Beacon Hills by their parents. The Caldwell’s were the first to leave, taking Stacey with them; despite her attempts to be emancipated and remain with her boyfriend. Chris sat with the other seven remaining members then. They slowly dwindled and now Chris is the sole remaining member of the group, his ring now worn on the third finger of his left hand. He managed to get himself emancipated from his parents; in part thanks to the inheritance from his grandmother he could access from when he turned eighteen a few months back.

“Hey, Greenberg, you’ve been to the Sithen, haven’t you?” 

Nathan looks up from his food and across the table to his questioner.

“Well, haven’t you? You work for Him, don’t you?” Nathan catches the way Chris’s finger rub over the ring on his finger, and the reverence with which he says ‘Him’, “As some sort of advisor? You’re part of the Royal Household Staff, right?”

“I’m the Seer an Rí,” he replies, at the slight crease of confusion in Chris’s brow he adds, “The King's Seer.”

“Like the Oracle of Delphi…”

“The Oracle was the temple; the Pythia was the priestess who augured the prophecies.”

Chris takes a nervous bite of his food, slowly chewing and swallowing before speaking again. Nathan takes the opportunity to shovel what’s left on his plate into his mouth.

“So,” Chris starts between chews, “Are there any other jobs available? When they talked about the staffing of the household on the news shows they didn’t go into a lot of detail about what jobs were available?”

“Wait, what?” Nathan splutters, nearly choking on the drink he was taking from his can of coke as he stifles a laugh, “You’re looking for a job working for King Tighearnach?”

“What’s so funny,” Chris begins to get defensive, “It’s not inconceivable. I was one of the first to defend him and the wolves…”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Nathan unconvincingly states between chortles, “It just isn’t what I was expecting you to ask about.”

“Really, what did you think I was going to ask about?” The question sullenly asked as Chris takes a hearty bite of his meatloaf.

“Actually, I have no idea.”

“Some prophet you are then.”

“There are those that would agree with you,” Nathan snorts, at the frown directed at him he adds, “Me for one. I can’t exactly control when I have a premonition, though my bubbe says that it will come with time.”

The bell rings, signalling the end of their lunch break.

“I’m not sure there are any jobs still available, at least nothing part time,” Nathan says as he stands, a thought crossing his mind, “Say, you’re doing that mechanic class right? Working on cars and stuff?”

“Yeah, I’m taking that new workshop class. I planned to try and get an apprenticeship as a mechanic.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know,” Nathan smiles as he walks away, leaving Chris confused, 

Nathan knows that Stiles has no intention of filling the position of Máistir an Capall, but it doesn’t need to be full time, and no-one said the horse had to be flesh and blood; those cars need looking after too.

  
  


  


Stiles wasn’t sure what to expect as he walked into the sheriff’s office. The fact that something was awry had been clear from the moment that Drazin barged into Jordan Peters’ Supernatural Social Studies class to inform him that his father had called and said he was needed at the station immediately. One, his father would not pull him out a class. Two, Drazin had interrupted the class that he knew Stiles did not want interrupted under any circumstance to pass on the message.

So, walking into his dad’s office he was certain that this was serious.

“Okay, Daddio, what’s the problem?”

His dad doesn’t look amused, doesn’t even roll his eyes at him. He pushes his chair back from his desk, stands and simply says, “Follow me.”

Stiles frowns as he follows his dad back through the doorway he just entered. Now he’s even more worried.

He follows his dad through to the interview rooms. His dad points to a two-way mirror. Looking through to the room inside, Stiles sees a naked dark-skinned young man of about his own age. The guy is pacing around the room; he’s clearly nervous, though that hasn’t caused the erection he’s sporting to wane.

“And the reason you’re showing me someone you’ve arrested for indecent exposure?” 

“You need to take a closer look,” is all his dad says in answer.

“This is a little creepy…”

“It’s not whatever you’re thinking,” his dad cuts him off, “Just… look carefully.”

Stiles turns his attention back to the naked guy. It’s then he notices a slight, almost unnoticeable, stiffness to the guys movements, and then he notices that the hard cock is not swaying or moving in any direction as he walks. His attention zooms in, and he realises that… “He’s made of wood?!” he exclaims, “He’s a living walking talking real-life Pinocchio?” 

“Deputy Clarke found him wandering down by warehouse district…”

“That must have made her day, seeing a naked hot young man with…”

“She approached him with the intention of arresting him as it appeared to be a clear case of indecent exposure but was shocked to find he’s not human. He claims that he used to be human…”

“Used to be?”

“He says, and I needed Parrish to help translate some of what he said, he kept slipping into speaking in the Sidhe language, he was taken to the Seelie Court by a sidhe and changed to resemble a man carved out of ebony. He says he escaped and wants sanctuary from his master who was still pursuing him.”

“He’s a changeling?”

“That’s for you to tell me.”

“Why’s he still naked?”

“He can explain that himself when you talk to him,” the sheriff grumbles his reply, “Just talk to him, find out what’s going on, and please tell me we’re not in the middle of some diplomatic incident with the Seelie Court a week before we gain our independence.”

  
  


  


Before walking into the room, Stiles makes sure that his wings are not visible, but he doesn’t hide his hair, eyes, and ears. It’s clear he’s Sidhe. As soon as he enters the guy becomes visibly distressed. He’s looking around frantically as if Stiles is about to attack him and he needs an escape route. 

“Hey, relax,” Stiles slowly lifts his hands up in front of himself attempting to calm and placate the guy, “I’m not Seelie Court or Unseelie Court. I’m from Beacon Hills.” As he looks around the room, he notices the neatly folded shirt and pants on one of the chairs, he decides to start with pleasantries, “So, my name is long and mostly unpronounceable, so, you can call me Stiles. Want to tell me your name?”

The guy remains silent, watching him. Remembering what his father said he tries again, in his broken mix of English and Sidhe, “So, mime esse na- anann ar mostly unpronounceable, so, tye pole- esta- me Stiles. Mére- ana nimeár- me your esse?”

“Ni am Toime,” he softly answers. Stiles is sure he’s heard the word ‘toime’ before and searches his memory for the translation. Toy.

“I don’t mean to be offensive,” Stiles frowns, “My capability with the Fae language is rather limited, I’ve never lived in either the Seelie or Unseelie Courts, or anywhere in Arcadia, but doesn’t toime mean toy?” Toime nods, and Stiles ask him, “Was Toime your name before you went to the Seelie Court?” Toime shakes his head, but he at least has looked less panicked since Stiles said he hasn’t lived in Arcadia.

“Do you want to tell me what your name was before?” He shakes his head again.

“Okay, so do you want to be naked? Is that why the clothes are still on the chair?”

“No,” he finally speaks, his voice almost breaking as he holds back the sob trying to escape, “He… my master… he made it hurt to wear anything to cover me. I can’t put them on,” his voice barely above a whisper, “Or I’ll burn.”

Stiles tries to keep his expression neutral and his voice calm as he responds, “Okay, so, why don’t we sit and you can tell me how you ended up a wooden boy in the sheriff’s station in Beacon Hills?” He gestures to the chairs beside the table, moving towards the one with the clothes on it, he lifts them and places them on the table before taking the seat and nodding his head to the other chair.

He watches as Toime walks to the chair, turns, and sits. Studying him so closely he can see the fine grain, lines of a deep dark brown that are faint against the black. He also finally notices that he’s not just made of wood. The joints have what looks like metal pins and soft leather, his eyes look like semi-precious stones fused together, and his eyebrows and hair are pieces of black suede. But most of him is a dark wood, ebony, that looks more matt than Stiles first thought.

“I haven’t been oiled in a while,” Toime says, breaking Stiles from his staring.

“Huh?”

“It’s why I look so… dry and dull. My…” he stops himself from saying master, “The Sidhe that took me to the Fae Wild, after the made me like this he used to oil me, he said that it was the best way to keep me clean and make sure I didn’t dry out and crack. Since I ra… escaped I haven’t been oiled.”

“Oiled?”

“He used lemon oil to clean and preserve… me. It was better for my wood he said,” the changeling explains, sounding melancholic.

“How did you meet him?” Stiles prompts, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on the back of his clasped fingers.

“It was when I was working a party at the fifty-four, you know their closing party. There were all these big stars there, but the most beautiful guy in the room is coming on to me. I had to pinch myself. ’course I didn’t know he was fae then, I just knew he was a good-looking guy and I’d recently realised I was into guys and… stuff.”

“This wasn’t anywhere around here, was it?” Stiles asks trying to figure out where the guy is from.

“No, it was in New York, obviously…” at the guys words, Stiles lifts his head from resting on his hands and sits back.

“Wait,” he exclaims, “Fifty-four… Studio-54?” he vaguely recalls seeing a film – that was pretty meh – about that, but that was set in… “That was back in… nineteen-eighty, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah… February.” Stiles here’s the wariness creeping into Toime’s voice; he really wants to know what his real name is so he can stop calling him Toy, even if he isn’t doing it aloud.

“So, tell me, how old were you, who were you, and what happened when you met him? How did you end up in the Seelie Court?”

“That’s a lot of questions in one sentence,” the wooden boy falls silent for a moment before softly asking, R#8220;Can I ask one?”

“Sure, you can ask more than one,” Stiles smiles, still trying to reassure the guy.

“He told me that there is only the Seelie and Unseelie Courts; the other Courts – Spring, Autumn, Solstice, Moon, Sun, and the others – they are all just factions within one of the two. You said you’re not Seelie or Unseelie. How?”

“We are an independent Fae Court that was created here in the mortal realm and not in the Fae Wyld. We are not part of any Arcadian Court…”

“But you had to have left one of them to set up this new court, right?”

“No. I was never part of either Court. I’ve only ever lived on this side of the Hedge. Hell, until a few years ago I didn’t even know I wasn’t human.”

“So, if you’re not part of the Seelie Court, can you give me sanctuary?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles solemnly states, “Why don’t you tell me what happened, who and what you need sanctuary from, and I’ll see what we can do.”

“Okay,” Toime sighs with a note of resignation in his voice, “Like I said, I met him at the closing party…”

“Who?” Stiles interrupts, “Who did you meet?”

“My mas… he said his name was Arthur, Arthur Asselman. He looked like a model, with his chiselled jawline, unblemished copper-toned skin, jet-black hair and soulful dark brown eyes, and way out my league. But… he was flirting with me, even as naïve, and new to the scene, as I was, I could tell he was interested in me…”

“How new to the scene were you?”

“I was nineteen, just started college…”

“Nineteen? I thought you had to be twenty-one…”

“Twenty-one? No, they raised the age to nineteen a couple of years later,” The changeling’s expression creases, a frown forming as he ponders Stiles’ question.

“Sorry, my mistake, you know what it’s like with every state being different, I can’t keep track of which age limit applies where…” Stiles cajoles him from his thoughts, “So, you were nineteen in nineteen-eighty, and knew you were interested in men and something more?” he probes at Toime’s earlier comment of ‘being into guys… and stuff’.

“Yeah,” the reply is hesitant.

“So, what happened between you and Arthur?”

“That first night, we went back to my place, I don’t know why, if I’d seen his penthouse first or known we would be more than a one-night stand I would never have taken him back to my one room apartment. But that’s where we ended up, and… we were pretty vanilla that night. Next morning, I woke up in bed alone, but he hadn’t left. I sat up and there he was sitting in front of my bookcase, leafing through a copy of one my books; one of the Kake comics I had, they’re panel stories by Tom of Finland… he’s…”

“I know who Tom of Finland is, trust me,” Stiles grins at him.

“Oh,” Toime smiles as he ducks his head before continuing, “There was also some books by Phil Andros that I could see he had looked at. He turned to me with the biggest grin across his face and said, ‘Joy, I wish you’d said you were into this, we could have had a wild time last night’…”

“Joy?”

“He called me that at first, before he gave me my new name, because it’s what my original name meant.”

“What was your name, before he changed it?”

There’s a hesitancy in answering, but he finally says, “Ayo, short for Kayode, Kayode Brooks…”

“Which name would you prefer to be called by?”

“I… I don’t know… I don’t feel like Ayo anymore, I’m just used to Toime.”

“Okay, so, he indicated he had a liking for kinks similar to your own?”

“Yeah, I had to admit to him that all they were was fantasies as I had never met anyone that I let know about them. He said he could teach me, if I wanted, and if we worked well together that I could become his submissive, if I wanted. I admitted that the idea appealed to me, he pointed out that he could tell from the way the bedclothes were poking up. Don’t know how true that was, but I guess it could have been.”

Stiles remains silent, allowing the changeling to continue when he’s ready.

“He said we should get dressed and go out for breakfast, so that we could talk some more. He took me to this place, fancier than I’d ever been in and he ordered for both of us; he didn’t even look at the menu.” Stiles can hear there is still some awe and pride in Toime’s voice over that, “Over breakfast, we talked some more about my fantasies and what he liked. My stomach was in knots talking about such things in a public place, but no-one was paying attention. He said he should take me out to see some of my fantasies in action, so I could decide if they should stay fantasies or if I wanted to make them a reality with him. He asked me if I knew the Mineshaft. I told him I knew **of the Mineshaft**, but that obviously I’d never been there; I wouldn’t pass their dress code. He told me the dress code wasn’t that restrictive, but not to worry, he’d take care of everything. And he did.”

“What happened?” Stiles prompts when Toime seems lost in his thoughts.

“The night we’d arranged to go, he shows up at my place dressed head to toe in black leathers. Leather cap, leather biker jacket, leather jeans, and leather biker boots, the only non-leather item I can see him wearing is a plain white t-shirt. He was a Tom of Finland drawing come to life. He has two options for me to choose from, something plain that will pass the dress code, or something to complement what he’s wearing. Without thinking I chose the second option. He pulls out of the bag he’s carrying a full leather body harness, a leather jockstrap, a pair of leather biker boots in my size, and a leather leash. I protested that I couldn’t go out in just that, it was February. He said not to worry, I could wear a coat between the apartment and his car.”

“Did he force you to wear them…?” Stiles blurts out his question, his outrage at the thought not hidden.

“No, no, he didn’t force me to wear the harness and jock. Even though the thought of going barely covered in those clothes scared me, it was how I wanted to be dressed. It took a while to get me into the harness… especially the cock ring… and pull the strap from the ring up around to fasten at the back of the harness, and then the leather jock. The boots were easy, and then he fastened a leather armband around my right bicep, and then he clipped the leash to the ring in the centre of the front of the harness. When I saw myself in the mirror, standing next to him in my apartment, I felt… I felt so good.”

“Because of how you looked?” Toime nods, and Stiles follows up, asking, “How did it make you look?”

There’s a pause as Toime considers the question before he answers, “Owned.” Stiles eyes widen as the words leave Toime’s mouth.

“Really? You liked looking like you were owned?”

“Yeah.” The confused look on Stiles’ face has the changeling continue, “I thought it was clear I was a sub? Or, is that because I’m African American you think I shouldn’t like the idea of being owned?”

It’s the most assertive the changeling has gotten in the time they have been talking and it catches Stiles by surprise.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t…” Stiles starts to apologise, “I know some guys who like being dominated, I shouldn’t…”

“And none of them are African American guys,” Toime smirks.

“No, they’re not, but my reaction and question were still out of line.”

“Not the first time I’ve had that reaction.” The words are huffed out with a sour tone.

“So, what happened at the club?” Stiles asks, wanting to steer the talk back on a safer course.

“That first night, not a lot,” Toime smiles as he reminisces, “I’d never seen so many men just… there was the clothes check where we left my coat, he led me around by the leash clipped to the harness and kept me close to him, there were guys who had checked everything, they were walking around naked or with just a leather collar around their neck, there were guys spread out on leather slings, cans of Crisco available around the club for use. He led me down the back stairs to the jail cell, the back of a truck where guys were having sex, there were dungeons, there were bath-tubs with spot lights over them, guys were laying back in the tubs and being pissed on. He leaned in against my ear and whispered, ‘I know that is not how you want to be used, but don’t worry, I saw your reaction to the guys being fucked in the slings, and the bondage, and the naked guys being used as footrest and as a table’. I must have shown something in my reaction because he reassured me that I wouldn’t be doing anything at the club that night, not until I wanted to. Until I was ready, I was his and only his, and when I wanted to, he’d decide when, where, and who.”

“So, what happened?” wrinkles appear on Stiles brow as he asks. He’s not sure why Toime is running from this Dom and seeking sanctuary if he’s the caring and thoughtful Dom that the changeling is portraying him as. Somewhere along the line something had to have changed.

“Huh?”

“After he said you were his, did anything else happen at the club, or…?”

“Nothing happened at the club that night. He led me around to watch more of the what the other guys were doing, we had a couple of drinks, cola I think, and then went back to his place. It was the first time I had been to his apartment. It was huge. The doorman didn’t bat an eye at how we were dressed, or barely dressed in my case, when we walked into the lobby from the underground parking lot. That night in bed I guess I was more passive that before, but I was happy to let him take the lead; he called me his Joy. In the morning over breakfast he presented me with a kink list and told me to complete it, that he’d do the same and then we’d work out an agreement between us for him to train me as his sub.”

“How did that work?” Stiles asks, “If you were new to the scene you probably did understand all of the kinks.”

“Anything I didn’t understand I was to leave blank and he would explain later. Which he did. We spent the next few weeks going through the list when we could meet up. I had my classes at college, and he had his work. It was only after we had drawn up the agreement that we did any scene. It was something so simple. We’d been out for a meal and had just returned to his apartment. He had me strip as soon as he closed the door behind us, I dropped my pants and shirt on the floor and he spanked me for it, telling me to pick them up and fold them properly. Then he led me to the bathroom to clean me out. Once he’d dried me, he ordered me to get on all fours on the floor and follow him back through the apartment to the living room. He sat on the sofa and turned on the TV, then raised his legs and rested his feet on my back. I spent the rest of the night as his footstool while he watched TV.”

“And after that?”

“Over the rest of the year he trained me more and more, and I spent more and more time at his apartment instead of my own until he asked me if I wanted to move in and make it permanent between us. I’d quickly become comfortable in the role of his submissive, and comfortable being naked around him while he was still fully dressed. Around his apartment the only thing I usually wore was my collar; stripping out of the rest of my clothes as soon as I stepped through the door.”

“And at the club?”

“We went to the Mineshaft a couple of times a month, and he’d use me as his footstool or in one of the slings, but he never let anyone else use me…”

“Did you want other guys to use you?”

“Yes and no,” Toime chuffs out a muted laugh, “It was a fantasy he knew I had, but I wasn’t ready to act on it. At least not until that Christmas…”

“Christmas nineteen-eighty?” Stiles clarifies.

“Yeah, it was the Friday before Christmas, and the place was packed. He was dressed in the full leathers, boots, jeans, vest, jacket, and cap. He checked all my clothes, leaving me in just my collar and wrist cuffs, which were fastened to the D-ring at the back of my collar. He clipped the leash to the D-ring on the front and led me around the bar. Hands were all over me from the get-go. I was hard by the time he had me down on all fours as his footstool while he sipped his drink and talked with some friends. I was still hard later when he led me to the slings and had me lay across one, bound to it by my wrists and ankles. He reaches for the can of Crisco and liberally covers his fingers and worms them into me, opening me up slowly and carefully before he takes more of the grease and coats his hard length and takes me hard and fast in front of everyone. When he finishes with me, one of his friends takes over, then another… I think there were only four that night. In the new year, our nights out at the club became a regular weekly thing…”

“How was college going?” Stiles interrupts.

“It was going well. If I started slipping, he would punish me. He was adamant that I would get my degree in Business Management and he helped ensure I was as focused on that as I was on serving him.”

“So, what went wrong?”

“Nineteen-eighty-one was a great year,” his smile fades, “At the start. About halfway through there were whispers of people getting sick, but not anyone we knew. The next year, August, just before college starts up there are reports in the press about G.R.I.D.S. – gay related immune deficiency syndrome – or ‘the gay cancer’, ‘the gay plague’. One of my cousins sees me being led out of the club, collared, and leashed. He and some of his friends were out with baseball bats and other makeshift weapons looking to teach some fags a lesson. He was more than willing to use his bat on me. Arthur and some others soon taught them they were messing with the wrong fags. But that didn’t stop my cousin letting my parents know I was a sick degenerate faggot. I wasn’t welcome at their home anymore; my dad made it clear it, I was no longer family…”

“You weren’t out to your family before? They didn’t know you were living with…”

“No,” Toime interrupts Stiles’ question, “It was never gonna be an easy conversation with them, more so with the recent reports, so, Arthur was letting me decide when, or if, I told them. My cousin happily gave them all the lurid details of me being half naked and collared in public, and by a white guy no less. I got the full blast of my parents’ anger; telling me how I was spitting on their fight for equality. That they didn’t march on Washington back in sixty-three, carrying me in their arms, for me to disrespect them, and myself, by acting like I was inferior to another man because of the colour of my skin, playing at being another man’s slave when for so many of my forebears it was a harsh and cruel reality. He heard them shouting down the phone to me. I never got to tell them that I wasn’t acting inferior to him because of the colour of my skin, that I wasn’t inferior to him and he and I both knew that. I just happened to get pleasure by giving him my service, and he enjoyed accepting it. He saw me cry from how their words affected me, how not getting the chance to defend myself brought me low.”

With effort, Stiles remains silent and waits for the changeling to continue.

“We stopped going to the club. At home we didn’t scene, I still stripped to my collar whenever I got home, but he never used me. I’d sit on his knee and we’d cuddle, kiss, he’d make love to me and call me his Joy. It was nice, but… it wasn’t us; it wasn’t me. It was around Thanksgiving that things boiled over. We got into an argument; I can’t even remember how it started, not really, something about setting the table for dinner, I think. I shouted something like, what am I your slave, and he replied _you tell me,_ and I threw something at him as I said _it doesn’t feel like it you never fucking use me anymore_, and he shouted _well if you want used then I’ll use you. _He did. Then he punished me for almost hitting him with the thing I had thrown. After that, the air seemed to clear between us. Things were good again, so we decided to go the club again. I was excited to go. We got there and hardly anyone we knew was there. Some of those that were didn’t look so good, some had lost too much weight. From that night onward, Arthur didn’t allow anyone that looked ill, or had been with someone known to have gotten ill, to use me.” 

Stiles starts to suspect where the story is going. Toime continues, “The number of people that he allowed to use me started to diminish over the next year, but by then we we’re hardly going anyway. I was putting so much time and energy into studying and course work and by the time I’m taking my finals I’m feeling tired and worn out. When I finish and I’m picking up my degree I’ve lost so much weight nobody else graduating wants to shake my hand; I hadn’t told anyone at college, but everyone knew the signs. It was June in eighty-four when he told me he had a plan to save me.”

“Oh, did you know he was Fae then?” Stiles is sure the answer is no.

“No,” Toime smiles, “We’re sitting in the living room, well, I’m sitting while he paces back and forth. I say, if there was a way to save someone once they got this, then a lot of our friends wouldn’t have died already. He stopped pacing and the… glamour… just fell away and he showed me his real self for the first time. It was a lot to take in. He was Fae, a Sidhe, and had magic. He could use that magic to change me and it would, it would save me, stop me from dying. I’d live for as long as he would, and that was a very, very, long time.”

“And you accepted,” Stiles assumes.

“Not right away,” the changeling confirms, “There were conditions that he pointed out. We’d have to return to the Court he was part of, and we wouldn’t be able to return once we crossed the hedge. That we would need to make an oath to each other. If either of us did not keep our word, there would be dire consequences for the oathbreaker. He told me to think on it overnight and give him my answer the next day. There really wasn’t much to think on as I saw it. I was dying. I had a degree I couldn’t use, no-one would employee me and I was getting too sick to work anyway. I had no contact with my family, and most of our friends were getting sick like me or had already died from it. Arthur may have hidden that he wasn’t human, but I was in love with him. Next morning, I told I agreed. The oaths we came up with were based on our lives together. He would take care of me, ensure that my needs as his submissive were met, and that the disease would not wither or age me. I would be his submissive and serve him as I had been doing for as long as we were together…”

“Those were the very words you gave in your oath,” Stiles interrupts, “For as long as you were together?”

“Yes,” the answer confirms, “I had thought that it would be forever, but…”

“What happened to make it not forever?”

“He never explained that I was going to be turned into… this,” Toime says, “I was horrified at first, but he still treated me like he did before, and I became comfortable. I looked like me, mostly looked human until you got close and realised, I was wood and leather. At first my cock wasn’t always…” he gestures to his embarrassment.

“Erect?” Stiles provides.

“Yeah. It used to only get like this when I was… it used to be like it was when I wasn’t made of wood. And he was treating me like he did when we lived in New York. I was happy serving him like I had been. And he brought friends around to play with and they’d all use me. And then they started using me less, and he started using me less. By this point he’d changed me more and made it so I couldn’t wear clothes or my skin… wood would burn, changed me so I was always hard and ready to be played with. Only now, he’d bring people home and he’d play with them and no-one was paying any attention to me. I was left watching them from the side-lines. Eventually, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get away.”

“Okay,” Stiles sighs, “I’m gonna go talk to my dad, the Sheriff, and see what we can do. From what you’ve said, he broke his oath to you and that would mean you were free of him. Let me check things out, make sure there’s no ramifications that will come and bite you on the ass.”

“That’s okay,” Toime snorts, “My ass is pretty hard, and they might just break their teeth if they bite it.”

Stiles chuckles as he stands up from the chair and heads out to talk to his dad and Drazin.

  
  


  


“Arthur Asselman is not a name I know,” Drazin states, “However, I believe that their given name is actually Éthur. Asselman has the meaning of ‘man from Assel’ and assel or hassal means hazel tree, which would refer to Coll. The Hazel.”

“All of which means?” Stiles gestures with his hands, trying to get Drazin to get to the point.

“It means you are talking about one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and there is only one of them known to reside within the Seelie Court itself, he’s one of the Princes of the Seelie Court,” Stiles turns to look behind him at Gabriel Matthews entering the sheriff’s office. Gabriel continues, “Éthur, is one of the sons of the Crown Prince of the Forest Court, which is… aligned… with the Seelie Court.”

“You make it sound like the Forest Court was made an offer they can’t refuse,” Stiles states.

“The Unseelie court waged war on the Tuatha Dé Danann Courts, what remained of them sought aid from the Seelie Court. That aid came with a price.”

“What price?” Stiles eyes narrow, he feels he’s not gonna like the answer.

“The Tuatha are old magic. They were the first of us,” Gabriel slowly explains, “There was the rumour that the magic within the Seelie and Unseelie Courts was waning, that they had lost the favour of the Goddess. The Tuatha’s magic was not bound to the favour of the Goddess. So, the King of the Seelie Court wanted the Tuatha to join his Court. They would be come princes of the Seelie, and their magic would become part of the Seelie Court’s magic. To that end, the second born of each King of the Tuatha Court’s must be raised and live within the Seelie Court. Before the old Accords they were allowed to cross the Hedge into this realm, for a decade or so. But they had to return to the Seelie Court.” Gabriel’s features twist into a scowl as he asks, “Hasn’t the cat or the druid covered this yet?”

“No, we’ve covered the Council,” Stiles answers, “I wanted to know the general workings of the different members, and then we got into the specifics about werewolves and hunters.”

“With all due respect your Majesty, I believe you need to understand the Fae Courts and their structure. It is what many of the fae moving here know and they will expect the Court of Beacon Hills to have…”

“I agree,” Stiles interrupts the fae math’s tutor, “You can start teaching me tonight, right now I have more pressing issues. One, there’s a naked elemental changeling with a permanent hard-on seeking sanctuary because his master broke his oath to him and stopped taking care of his needs. Two, I need to talk with the King of the Seelie Court and accuse this Prince Éthur of being an Oath Breaker.”

“Accusing a sidhe of being an Oath Breaker is a grave insult,” Gabriel gasps, “For a Tuatha it is unheard of…”

“From how Toime talked and described Arthur at the start, it just didn’t sound like something his master would do. But he wasn’t lying at any point while we talked. The guy basically abandoned him after giving his oath that he would always take care of him.” Stiles’ confusion at the turn of events is evident in his voice. “So, here’s what we’re gonna do. Dad,” he turns to face his father, “Can you and your deputies find out what you can about Kayode Brooks, Toime’s original name. He was studying in New York in the early eighties and when his family found out he was gay they had a falling out. See if there is trace of them, in case he wants to try and reconnect, but don’t let them know anything about him here, being alive, or being a changeling. Drazin, Gabriel, you two and I are going to take Toime back to the Sithen, then we are going to contact Uncle Tuireann and find out what we can about Prince Arthur, err… Éthur.”

While Deputy Clarke helps Stiles lead Toime out the back of the station and into the waiting Impala – Drazin and Toime in the back, Gabriel driving and Stiles in the passenger seat – the sheriff has two other deputies tracking down any reference of a Kayode Brooks in any of the colleges and universities in New York City from the early nineteen-eighties.

  
  


  


“That isn’t what happened,” King Tuireann’s voice booms through the mirror, “Mac Cuill was going on a quest for me. To get his changeling used to him not being present he decided to distance himself from them. He never returned from the quest. Mac Cuill’s brothers went to fetch the changeling and it ran from them…”

“Wait, wait, why are we talking about a Mac Cuill? Toime’s sidhe master was Prince Éthur…” Stiles interrupts.

“King Tighearnach, my dear nephew,” Tuireann chuckles, “They are one in the same. Mac Cuill was Éthur’s chosen name, in honour of Coll…”

“The Hazel?” Stiles remembers, “Forgive me Uncle,” Stiles uses the familial title as the Seelie King has already called him nephew, “I don’t fully have a grasp of all the customs and structure of fae courts, so, I don’t know the significance of Coll or why Prince Éthur would take the name Mac Cuill.”

“It would take too long to explain now,” Tuireann huffs in reply, “Simply put, it is related to honouring one the Gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann, which I am sure you already know Prince Éthur is.”

“Yes,” Stiles confirms, “So, we are in a grey area where the Oath is concerned.”

“What grey area?” the Seelie King bellows, “I just told you that Mac Cuill did not…”

“But uncle,” Stiles sticks to the family title, in an attempt, to keep the situation from becoming heated, “Prince Éthur did not intend to break his Oath, and had he returned from the quest I don’t believe he would have, but the Oath he gave was that he would always ensure that Toime’s needs were met. Toime’s needs were not met. That is why he ran here and sought sanctuary. What were the brother’s intentions in fetching Toime?”

“They believe that their brother is dead, therefore the changeling becomes their responsibility.”

“Are they suited to taking care of Toime the way their brother did?”

“What do you propose, nephew?”

“The Oath sworn was between Prince Éthur and Toime. So, I’m assuming that his brothers are only looking to take on the responsibilities in taking care of Toime out of a sense of obligation, as it is not required by the Oath given, and not out to ensure that there was no possible suggestion of an Oath being broken. So, I propose that they allow Toime to claim sanctuary and for me to take on the burden of ensuring his welfare.”

“And we can agree that no Oath was broken?”

“With Toime safely established in my Court, there would be no potential of anyone suggesting that an Oath was even unintentionally broken,” Stiles smiles at the other King.

“Agreed,” Tuireann grins, “You have quite the cunning mind King Tighearnach.”

“Thank you, King Tuireann.”

“Well met nephew.”

“Well met uncle.”

The mirror darkens, closing the connection between the Courts, before it reflects the room leaving Stiles, Gabriel, and Drazin staring at themselves.

“Well, that’s one problem dealt with,” Stiles turns to his tutor and advisor, “Now we need to find out what Toime wants.”

  
  


  


The changeling had been overjoyed to know that he had sanctuary within the Court of Beacon Hills. Though he was less sure about what he wanted to do now that he had the freedom to choose. Stiles told him to sleep on it they would discuss it in the morning.

Now Stiles is in the den, alone with Gabriel, as the fae tutor gives him his first lesson in the fae courts. The blond fae has been on edge most the time they’ve been sitting together. Stiles is certain he knows the reason why. He drops the notebook on the table in front of him and leans back on the couch while sliding closer to Gabriel.

“So,” Stiles coughs, “Did I ever mention my cousin Ray? Réamann Mac an Tiarna na Madraí. Turns out that he was tortured by the Queen of Air and Darkness, despite being related to her, and that she used this thing called the Tears on him. Branwyn's Tears. I never knew what that look he sometimes got was until I found that out. The need for physical contact with another sidhe. So,” he places his hand over Gabriel’s and rests them on the tutor’s thigh, “Explain again about the Courts; there’s the major, minor, and seasonal, right?”

“Yes,” Gabriel confirms as he raises his eyes, the shocked expression only leaving his face as he reexplains the fae courts, “The Major Courts are the Seelie and Unseelie, though now Beacon Hills will also be considered a major court…”

“And the minor courts are The Sun Court, The Moon Court, The Forest Court also known as the Wood Court, The Animal Court, The Court of Winds (Air Court), The Lake Court (Water Court), The Spirit Court (Fire Court), and The Vale court (Earth Court),” Stiles adds, “Each of them are aligned with one of the major courts.”

“Correct. The courts of Wind, Lake, Spirit, and Vale are also referred to as the elemental courts.”

“And the Seasonal Courts, the Court of Spring, Court of Summer, Court of Autumn, and the Court of Winter, are not aligned to any major court. They only exist for the season, and fae of any other court will be part of the seasonal court?”

“Yes. They are not so much official courts, and more like a club of likeminded fae.”

“So, this tier structure. Explain that again.”

“Sidhe and Demi-Sidhe fae are Tiered Fae, as are any others that show magical ability. All other fae are non-tiered or "lesser-fey", "commoners". The Tiers are all royal or noble titles, starting at the top there is The High King, or High Queen, not that there has been a High King since before the Seelie and Unseelie Courts existed. The full list of the ten tiers are:

    * High King/Queen
    * King/Queen
    * Archduke/Archduchess, Grand Prince/Princess, Crown Prince/Princess
    * Prince/Princess
    * Duke/Duchess
    * Marquis/Marquess
    * Count/Countess
    * Baron/Baroness
    * Knight/Lady
    * Ministerials”

“And that status is based on their magical ability?” Stiles asks.

“Not just their magical ability, but also genetics and bloodline. A pure Sidhe will rank above Demi-Fae who would rank above the Demi-Sidhe who would rank above the so-called lesser fae; the Boggans, Satyrs, Redcaps, Eshu, Merfolk, Sluagh, Nockers, Oba, Piskies, Pooka, Selkies, Trolls, etcetera. To become a Baron or higher tier, you had to have at least one hand of power. That ensures that only those with sidhe blood can attain those titles.”

“Well, genetics and bloodline be damned, just because you’re pure Sidhe means jack-shit to me, so, that doesn’t give you status in my Court,” Stiles states, “It’s what you do that matters. Not your lineage, how much money you have, or how powerful you are.”

“Do you intend to make your court a democracy, Your Majesty?”

“I’ve told you before, Mr. Matthews, to call me Stiles,” Stiles smiles at his tutor, “And no, Beacon Hills is not a democracy, but the people will have a voice. But my Court will be a flatter hierarchy. There is the King, me. There are the Alphas of my pack, Derek and Scott. There is everyone else.”

“And everyone else has a voice?”

“Yes. There will still be elections for the Board of Supervisors. There are only nine districts in Beacon Hills, each will elect a Councillor, giving a Board of Supervisors of nine Councillors speaking for the people. The Board of Supervisors will sit in the General Assembly, along with my Lord High Constable, Lord Steward, Lord Chamberlin, and Lord High Treasurer. The General Assembly will debate the issues. I will listen to the debate and the facts, not the rhetoric, and make my decisions based on facts and the advice of the General Assembly.”

“And if you are not available to decree your will?”

“Then it will fall to my Alphas, or in their absence, my Lord High Constable, Lord Steward, Lord Chamberlin, and Lord High Treasurer to come to a consensus.” 

A thought can be seen to cross Stiles’ mind, “Back at the station, you said that the Tuatha Dé Danann were the first of us. Were you referring to the Sidhe?”

“All Fae,” Gabriel replies, “Though, those that now call themselves, Pureblood Sidhe are the closest in appearance to the Tuatha. But all of the Fae are descended from the Tuatha.”

“Ray told me that Pure Sidhe are immortal, but the other Fae have varying lifespans…”

“He was wrong,” Gabriel interrupts, “Pureblood Sidhe may live for millennia while some of the other Fae live only hundreds of years, or less, but only the Tuatha Dé Danann are immortal. That doesn’t mean they cannot be killed, everything can be killed, but once someone who is Tuatha reaches maturity they no longer age; they can live forever, and their beauty will never diminish.”

“If all Fae are descended from them, why did the Unseelie Court and Seelie Court come to exist? Why are there not just what are now the minor courts with their own Kings and Queens? Why did the Unseelie start a war with the Tuatha?”

“I think, my King, that those are questions for another day,” Gabriel demurs.

“Okay, given how late it’s getting you’re probably right, but,” Stiles smiles widely, “I think I’m going to need regular sessions with you to get to know more about the Fae in general.”

“As you command, my King.”

“Do I need to command you to call me Stiles?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. This originally was intended to be the final chapter of the story, however, I haven't reached the end point I have planned and the chapter kept getting longer and longer, so, I have split what I have written so far in two, and I am posting this part as chapter-6, and there will now be two further chapters in this story.
> 
> As always, this has not been proof-read, and all mistakes are my own.
> 
>   
  
  


Toime was unsure what to do. He’d been left alone in the room within the Sithen, with a bed and a private bathroom connected, and told to make himself comfortable. The sidhe had told him that they would discuss what he wanted to do in the morning, that he should sleep on it and consider what he wanted.

And he had been given a lot of information to taken in.

The first shock was that the year was twenty-fifteen. Somehow over thirty years have passed since he entered Fae-Wyld and became Arthur’s wooden plaything. He’d heard the names Éthur and Mac Cuill, but he was always Arthur to him. Well, Master.

The second shock was that Arthur was dead, well, presumed dead. He hadn’t returned from some mission, quest, whatever, that the Seelie King had sent him on. His whole behaviour before he had last seen him was some stupid attempt at distancing so that he didn’t miss him too much while he was on the mission – quest – and wasn’t because he no longer loved him. Arthur didn’t mean to break his Oath. But he did, really before he left and never came back. It wasn’t Arthur chasing him through the Hedge, it had been Arthur’s brothers. However, they had agreed to him remaining in the Court of Beacon Hills, with the proviso that no-one suggests Arthur broke his Oath.

The third shock was that when King Tighearnach, Stiles, had asked him what he wanted to do he didn’t have an answer. He’s lain on this bed all night trying to think and he still doesn’t know. His purpose was serving Arthur. Without Arthur he’s not sure what his purpose is anymore.

He remains on the bed thinking over what he wants to do or trying to think of what he might want to do, until the thunder of little feet running down past the door catches his attention. It’s quickly followed by a peel of a child’s laughter and the stern call of a man shouting, “Caden Whittemore Hale, stop right where you are.”

Toime opens rises from the bed and pulls open the door to peer out into the hallway. He sees a toddler sulking and a blond-haired man dressed in wide leg, teal capri pants, open-toed sandals, and light-blue bra, going down on one knee to pick him up.

“You know your dada is helping oma-Issy, so, the last thing I need is you running off when oma-Scott and I are trying to help your nannies get you and your siblings and cousins fed before we have to go to school,” the blond says to the toddler.

“Who’s that?!” the toddler ignores the man in favour of point at Toime. The blond turns to look at him.

“Hi, I’m Jackson, this is one of my sons, Caden,” the blond smiles at him, “Hope we didn’t disturb you; you’re the guest that Stiles brought home last night, right?”

“Are you a toy?” Caden blurts out, “Uncle Stiles said your name is Tee-oy-mee and it means you are toy.”

“No,” the blond holding the boy sighs, “Stiles said he goes by the name Toime, which is also the fae word that means toy.” Turning to Toime, he asks, “Are you still using that name?”

“I guess,” Toime answers, he hadn’t given much thought to whether he wanted to go back to his original name, “If that’s what he’s said I’m called…”

“No,” Jackson interrupts him, “He said that’s what you were going by, but that you might go back to your original name. If you wanted to.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he shrugs.

“Well, if you’re hungry, the kitchens that way…” pausing mid-direction he asks, “Do you eat?”

“No…”

“Don’t you get hungry?” Caden exclaims.

“Remember, Toime is a changeling,” Jackson starts to explain, only for Caden struggle in his arms trying to look behind Toime.

“But there’s no tail, like Matt and Ka-wham-ee has,” the little wolf frowns.

“I’m a Manikin, an elemental changeling,” Toime explains.

“And Matt and Kwame are beast changelings,” Jackson adds. Turning back to Toime, he adds, “Anyway, the kitchen is that way, you’ll find someone in there fixing breakfast and Stiles had Jordan pick up some lemon oil – he said you needed some – whoever is in the kitchen should be able to tell you where it is, and you,” he turns back to the toddler in his arms, “I need to get back to the nursery so I can yet you fed along with everyone else, so that I can get breakfast with the rest of the grown-ups and get to class.” With a nod of his head, the blond carries the giggling boy off in the opposite direction of where he indicated the kitchen was.

Toime decides to head to the kitchen and find the lemon oil.

  


He finds the kitchen relatively easily. There’s a man, with a metal collar around his neck, he recognises from the station standing over the stove, cooking. Another man, naked with a similar metal collar around his neck is fetching ingredients and items for the other. He sees the tattoo across the naked man’s back. Three lines of text in thick black lettering proclaiming:

** **

**slave aiden  
Property of  
Master Stiles**

**   
**

“Hey,” slave aiden greets him when he turns and sees him standing by the doorway, “Breakfast isn’t ready yet, we’ll bring it through to the dining room when it’s ready. Hope you like bacon, eggs, pancakes, sausage, fried potatoes, or there’s a choice of cereals?”

“I don’t eat,” Toime replies, “Ah… Jackson said that there was lemon oil for me to clean myself with?”

“Yeah,” the man by the stove calls over his shoulder, “I picked some on my way home from work. It should be in the cabinet by the sink…”

“I’ll get it,” Aiden calls out, heading toward the sink. He opens and closes the doors of the cabinets until he finds it and walks towards Toime. “I’m Aiden, by the way…”

“I saw,” Toime blurts out, as he takes the proffered bottle of oil, “I mean, your tattoo, on your back.”

“Yeah, of course, I keep forgetting that I got that,” Aiden laughs.

“And I am Jordan, or Deputy Parrish at the station,” the man cooking adds.

“Or the King’s Dragon,” Aiden jokes.

“Aiden,” Deputy Parrish jokingly growls, “You know very well that is inaccurate. I’m only half-Dragon Bane…”

“The other half is incubus,” Aiden stage whispers conspiratorially, holding his hand up near his mouth as he pretends to hide what he is saying from Jordan.

“Quarter incubus and quarter sidhe,” Jordan snarls jokingly, “And I’m head of the King’s Guard.”

Toime stares at the bottle of oil in his hand, not knowing what to make of the conversation between the two collared men; or how to oil himself properly when he can’t reach everywhere that he needs to clean.

“You need a hand with that?” Aiden asks, and Toime realises he’s talking to him.

“I’ve never oiled myself, my m…Arthur always used the oil to clean me, I couldn’t reach everywhere.”

“Want me to help?” Aiden asks before he turns to Jordan, “You can handle the rest of breakfast while I help him clean up, right?”

“Sure, Derek should be finished changing Issy and be here before I need help plating everything.”

“Come on,” Aiden says to the changeling, “We can pick up some cloths from the laundry room on the way to your room.”

  


Chris can’t believe he’s actually here.

The number of times he, Stacey, and the others tried to find this place and couldn’t. The landscape looks completely different to what he recalls from all the times they were out here searching. Now here he is. Walking up to the front door of the Beacon Hills Sithen. The taxi dropped him off at the end of the drive and he’s walked up the tree-lined driveway from there. To meet with King Tighearnach. For a job interview.

He really doesn’t want to mess this up. He wants the job. Whatever he needs to do to get it he has promised himself that he will. Swallowing down the last of his nerves, he knocks on the door. He wants to make a good impression, but… his palms are sweating, and his shirt is damp under his armpits. The door opens. Too late to back out now and run away. Standing on the other side of the door is not who he was expecting to see.

“Greenberg?” he croaks, “I didn’t know you lived here.”

“I don’t,” Nathan snorts, “Given I proposed you for the job, I asked if I could show you around before your interview. So, I got here early. The Royal household are having breakfast in the private residence part of the Sithen. I’ll show you around the formal Court,” he indicates to the left, but there’s no sign of a door, “That has grown since…”

“Grown?” Chris cuts in, questioning the half-human.

“Yes,” Nathan exhales in mild annoyance at the interruption, explaining, “Since the Goddess granted the crown to King Tighearnach, the Sithen has created distinct and separate areas. The private residences where those who are part of the King’s Household live, the rooms for the Household staff that reside within the Sithen, the reception rooms between the private residences and the public rooms, and the public rooms of the formal Court; those include the rooms where the advisors work, the throne room, the grand hall, etcetera, etcetera. So, I’ll show you around the formal Court, before taking you to the King’s study,” he indicates to the right, again there is no sign of a door or entrance, “Where he will interview you.”

“Stiles is gonna interview me himself?” Chris feels those nerves he swallowed down start to rise again.

“You’re applying for the position of Máistir an Capall,” Nathan says, “The Master of the Horse, not that there are any horses involved, just horse-power,” he chuckles at his own joke, “And will be responsible for the maintenance and running of his motor vehicles. So, he decided that while officially you report to the An Tiarna Steward, The Lord Steward, he will interview you himself.”

“The Lord Steward, that’s Alpha Derek Hale, right?”

“And Omega-Alpha Scott McCall,” Greenberg smiles, “Come on, let’s get started. You don’t want to be late and keep the King waiting.”

The half-human leads him through the door that is straight ahead of the main entrance he just came through.

“This is the vestibule,” Nate informs him.

Chris looks around the room. It’s not what he expected. From outside the Sithen looks like a large family home in the style of a two-storey log cabin. This room… this looks like something out of some grand European palace, something out of the seventeenth or eighteenth century; what do they call it, Baroque? Or is it Grand Classicism? The room is larger than he was expecting, he estimates twenty-feet by thirty-feet. The white walls rise-up to the cornices where the tree-tops peer above into the fresco of the blue, open sky that stretches across the ceiling. The sun spilling its light down on the room from the centre; the light is so bright that he can’t look at it, but he assumes that it must be a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The floor is a geometric array of dark oak squares separated by the criss-cross bands of light oak. The panels on the walls are bordered by three dark-blue, parallel lines that twist and cross, cutting the corners at forty-five degrees about six-inches from the top and bottom, then twist and cross again to straight across before repeating on the other side of the panel. There are a few tables and high-backed chairs around the room and a single door in the left wall.

“How do we get to the study?” he blurts out, “I mean, you sort of suggested it’s that side of us,” he adds, pointing to the right.

“We’ll get to that,” Nate smirks, “First, let me show you the Grand Salon, or the Great Party Room, as our King refers to it.” The half-fae leads him through the single door into a long corridor that runs off to the left from the door. About a quarter of the way down the corridor there is an ornate archway, and further along the corridor he can see the archway is repeated. The décor of the corridor matches that of the ‘vestibule’ they just exited. “This way,” Nate calls over his shoulder as he leads the way, “Through there,” he indicates a door to the right of them as they pass through the first arch, “Is the antechamber, we’ll come back to that.” They pass the second archway, “And, through here,” Nate calls to him as he throws open the double door ahead of them on the right, “This is the Grand Salon.”

He follows Nate into a room at least four times the size of the vestibule. The baroque style continues, only, on a grander scale. The walls are the same white panelling as the vestibule, and there is the same fresco of tree-tops above the cornices and fresco of almost cloudless blue sky across the ceiling. But. The grain of the wooden floor seems to shimmer with hints of gold. As does the parallel lines that outline the white panels of the walls, and, at four panel intervals, there is what Chris assumes to be a statue of tree between the one panel and the next extruding from the wall. The bark of the half-tree that can be seen similar in colour to the dark oak wood of the floor that the roots of the tree disappear into. The branches of these trees form part of the canopy of treetops and leaves above the cornices, the light in the room seeming to come through their leaves from behind.

“This is the room that will be used for official functions; dinners, parties, that sort of thing,” Nate informs his as he turns around to face Chris, who’s still standing where they entered the room. “Through there is the antechamber we passed, for when you need a break from the partying,” he indicates a door on the wall to the right of the door we entered through, a few feet into the room.

Entering the antechamber, Chris is hit by the strong scent of roses. He notices that the far wall is covered in the flower; they densely surround the door in the centre. He begins to take in the décor of the room. It follows the same style of the vestibule, Grand Salon, and the corridors, but towards the rose covered wall, the white of the walls turns off-white and slowly becomes a dark, forest green. The symmetrical borders of the panel becoming twisted thorny vines and the scenes reminiscent of a wild forest.

“Those two doors,” Nate indicates to their left, “Lead to the bathrooms. I think there are like ten stalls in each. That door,” he points to their right, “Leads back into the corridor we followed down to the Grand Salon. This door,” he smiles as he points the door in the rose covered wall, “This is the throne room.”

The throne room is not what Chris expected. He’s not sure what he expected, but this doesn’t look like any throne room he’s seen in pictures. It looks like a sacred forest grove. The floor is a darker version of the hardwood that covers the Grand Salon. The walls are not white, but the trunks of different trees, rising in height with the tallest behind the – he can’t help but think of it as slab of stone resting on top of wooden sleepers – throne. The roses are growing around and up the tree trunks. The ceiling is a fresco of the treetop stretching towards the centre of the dark night sky where the Aurora Borealis shimmers.

“The trees are Holly, Hazel, Apple, Yew, Pine, Oak, and Ash,” Nate absently states, adding, “The throne is blue granite.”

“What’s it resting on?”

“The three roots of the large Ash behind it,” Nathan answers, “Come on, we should get a move on.” He heads towards the wall to the left of them. Chris can’t see any other door than the one they entered through, which is behind them, he follows the Greenberg anyway.

“Why are we heading to a wall if we need to be going?” he calls out as he quickly catches up to the half-fae.

“You’re inside the Sithen of the Sidhe King of Beacon Hills, not everything is as it seems,” Nate calls over his shoulder, turning to face Chris as he adds, “Except when it’s exactly what it seems,” adding with a smile, “But not in this case.” He presses his palm against an exposed part of the wall between the entwined vines of the roses. There’s a rustling of leaves as the vines move, creating – or revealing, Chris isn’t sure which – an archway leading out of the room.

“Ow!” Chris cries out as he follows Nate through the arch and one of the rose vines pricks his finger, the head of the rose enveloping where the thorn struck.

“Hey,” Nate snaps at the roses, “Cut that out, you know the King will not be pleased at you feeding on the human guest…”

“Feeding?” the human gulps as the rose and vine disentangle themselves from him and re-join the rest of the roses that blanket the wall; the archway no-longer visible if it is there at all.

“They take a few drops now and again, but the Goddess help any enemy of the King’s that encounters the roses,” Nate smirks, “Along this corridor are the offices of The Lord Chamberlain and The Lord High Constable,” he points to a couple of door on the wall opposite, “Up this way,” he turns to their right, “Is the Council Chamber”, he points to the large door directly across where this corridor intersects with another corridor creating a T-junction.

The corridor is decorated in a less ostentatious version of the vestibule and corridor leading to the Grand Salon, Chris notes as he looks around him; doing so he becomes aware that the roses have vanished from the wall and there is no sign of the archway either.

“Where have the roses gone? And the archway?” he asks turning to Greenberg.

“The archway isn’t needed so it’s not there,” he simply replies as he walks up the corridor, “And the roses won’t be that far way.” The statement doesn’t make things any clearer to Chris. “Through these doors is the council chamber, where the King and his advisors meet,” the satyr quickly looks at his watch before turning back to Chris and adding, “We should probably pick up the pace,” and rushing through the door.

Chris barely gets time to take in the room decorated similarly to the throne room, except for the large round table in the middle, before they are exiting through a similar door on the other side and Nate informing him, “And along this corridor,” he says pointing to the wall opposite that has five doors visible, “Are the offices for the Lord High Treasurer, The Lord Steward, and The King’s Dragon…”

“The King’s Dragon?”

“Yeah, officially, he’s the head of the King’s Guard, and as I found out doesn’t like being called the King’s Dragon, even though he is a Dragon Bane collared by the King… well, a half-dragon bane…”

“Who’s in the other two offices?”

“Officially, one is mine, not that I ever really use it, and I guess the other would be yours,” Nate answers, before adding with a grin, “If you get the job. Now down here…” he walks down the corridor towards a door on the same wall as the door they existed from the council chamber, “In that direction,” he points to his left, “The corridor leads back around to the council chamber, the offices and the throne room. This way,” he points to a door on their right and walks towards it, “If you follow me,” opens the door and steps through, “We are now in the private residences.”

Chris can see the corridor he’s standing in is decorated more like the throne room, but less ostentatiously, and the roses cover the walls and ceiling.

“How come we can get into their living quarters so easily?” the surprise evident in Chris’s voice, “I thought there’d be like guards checking we’re allowed in, not just be able to walk through a door!”

“There are hundreds of guards,” Greenberg smirks at him, “They are lining the walls and ready to drop from the ceiling, and if you intended harm to anyone living here, believe me, you would not make out of this corridor. Those thorns would flay you alive.”

“Are you making Chris fearful of my beautiful roses?” Chris and Nate both turn to the sound of Stiles’ voice. Chris can’t see where the King entered the corridor from.

“He’s already been feeding them,” Nate says with a chuckle.

“It jabbed my finger before I knew what was happening!”

“What?!” Stiles exclaims and has the two of them recount the tale of how the roses fed on human earlier.

“Well, I’m sure they will behave themselves now that they know you,” Stiles plainly states, scowling at the roses on the wall he adds, “Won’t you?” The roses rustle their leaves in response. Turning his attention back to Chris, Stiles asks, “Ready for you interview?”

“Ah… yeah, sure,” Chris vigorously nods his head as he replies. Stiles turns and places the palm of his hand on the wall amongst the roses.

“I’ll wait in the vestibule and drive you to school after,” Greenberg says, “It will be easier than trying to get a taxi out here to pick you up.”

“Thanks,” Chris smiles before following Stiles, King Tighearnach, through the door that appears where he places his hand in the wall of roses.

  


Stiles is tired. It has been a long day, starting with the interview with Chris Lloyd-Jones. He then had a full day of classes. Now he’s sitting in the Council Chamber with his dad, Scott, Derek, Drazin, and Neasa as they go over the plans for Independence Day, again, and he still has to talk with Tiome; find out if the changeling knows what he wants to do, who he wants to be.

“Do we need to go over these plans again?” he tries not to sound like he’s whining.

“Yes,” his dad instantly counters, “And tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that. We need to make sure that everything is covered and that everything goes smoothly on Friday.”

“The tents, rides, and attractions are already being built in the park, aren’t they? And the stewards to man the event have been arranged?”

“Yes, despite the snow, everything is progressing according to plan…” Drazin starts to reply before Neasa cuts in, “We have had to make some adjustments due to changes in expected attendance numbers.”

“Why? What’s changed?”

“The original numbers were based on the data from the last census, that hadn’t taken account of the changes in population in Beacon Hills.”

“We knew the population was changing, that about a quarter of the residents were moving out and at least fifty percent more were moving in than leaving,” Stiles reminds them.

“That’s not exactly what looks to be happening now,” Neasa cautiously says, “We won’t know exactly until we do a full census, but it seems less humans have left than were initially expected to. On top of that a lot more werewolves have moved in…”

“And that is causing some territorial issues,” Derek adds.

“My deputies are having to deal with an increased number of disagreements that get physical,” his dad comments.

“How is the influx of non-pack werewolves causing territorial issues?” Stiles demands, “All of the Beacon Hills is McCall-Hale pack territory. I thought any werewolf that was moving into our territory knew that if they wanted to stay in our territory, they had to present themselves to the alphas and behave themselves or they’d be exiled.” 

“The non-pack werewolves aren’t the problem, some of them are even petitioning Alpha Boyd to join his pack,” Scott pipes in, “Some of the werewolves that are moving in are whole, small, packs…”

“And most of them are not a problem,” Derek says, “And all of them have met with me, or Scott and me.”

“But around the full moon,” Stiles dad takes over the explanation, “While the pack is running around the preserve, all the other wolves are either locking themselves up in their basements or are running around the city parks and when wolves of different packs run into each other…”

“Some of them get territorial over the park,” Derek finishes.

“Well, that’s gotta stop,” Stiles rages, “One, the whole of Beacon Hills is OUR territory, no-one else gets to claim any part of it. Two, the parks are there for everyone use, we can’t have wolf packs claiming them as theirs because,” he repeats himself with a lot more force, “BEACON HILLS IS THE MCCALL-HALE PACK TERRITORY AND NO OTHER PACK!”

“I’m aware that this is our pack’s territory,” Derek holds back the snarl threatening his tone, “I’m arranging a meeting with the alphas of the problem packs for after independence d…”

“No,” Stiles interrupts, “Make it for this week. We allow Alpha Boyd’s pack to use a section of the preserve that we don’t use during the full moon, but I’m not allowing any other pack or werewolf in our preserve and so close to the Sithen. We’ll allocate designated areas of the forests on the outskirts of town that the other wolves can use. We’ll specify which are general use for any wolf that doesn’t mind sharing during the full moon, and for the problem packs, we’ll corral them into allocated areas where law enforcement can track them and make sure they don’t cause any problems.”

“We may not have enough forest or wooded areas at the border areas to allocate enough space for all the wolves,” Neasa tightly states, “Many werewolves have moved into the city, more than the number of humans that have left.”

“I thought we didn’t know the exact numbers?” Stiles questions her assessment.

“We don’t know the exact number of humans that have left, but we have estimates based on the people that have left,” Neasa responds, “The population of Beacon Hills was around fifty thousand. Of that ninety-five percent we estimate, because it wasn’t a census question, were human. Of those we think a fifth have left, so around nine thousand. And we do know roughly how many werewolves there are as they need to make representation to Derek and Scott.”

“Every day since it about a week after it was announced that we were being granted sovereignty there’s been around forty to sixty wolves presenting themselves or representing their pack; the packs are between four and eight members,” Derek adds.

“So, say fifty a day, that gives us over thirteen thousand, and that doesn’t factor in the number that were representing a pack,” Neasa states.

“Fuck!” is Stiles’ response.

“Not all werewolves will go out during the full moon, many will stay home if they have enough control and don’t have a pack to run with,” Derek points out.

“True. So, hopefully we will still have enough wilderness to get the wolves out of the city and not have multiple packs crossing paths,” Stiles muses and mentally crosses his fingers.

“The next biggest group are the Fae,” she adds, “And then, through some divination, we are certain there is also a large contingent of werecats, possibly attracted by the fact you hired Jordan Peters. And I reiterate, we will not know exact numbers until we conduct a census.”

“Fine, arrange one for as soon as possible,” Stiles dictates, “We need to know how many people are in our city to make sure we have the facilities to cover healthcare, education, power and water. And to make sure we know who should be paying tax.”

“So that you have the money to pay for it,” his dad quietly quips.

“Yes, dad,” Stiles scowls as he retorts, “We need to ensure that everyone pays their taxes to make sure that everyone is healthy and educated without drowning themselves in debt. Health and knowledge are a right that everyone should have access to, not just the wealthy.”

“To get back on topic,” Neasa interjects, “Independence Day will start with the formal signing and declaration at 12:00h in the City Chambers at Beacon Hills Town Hall. Your speech,” she looks at Stiles, “Will be broadcast on local and worldwide television and radio networks. Despite the light snow we’ve had it’s not causing any problems, and the rest of this week is expected to be dry, if cold; eight degrees Celsius, that’s forty-six Fahrenheit, is the high.”

“What’s the low?”

“Zero, but during the festivities it won’t hit that low,” John comments, “Still, we’ve arranged heaters for the attractions around the sites, and there will be plenty of vendors selling hot food and beverages. So, people should be able to enjoy themselves without feeling too cold.”

“So, it all starts at midday and we wrap everything up by midnight, with everyone home before the temperature drops to freezing,” Stiles states, “Do we have enough stewards for the turnout expected, given the increase in population?”

“Yes,” his dad responds, “We have additional volunteers, that we’ve vetted, from werewolves, fae, and humans, though,” he adds, “Some of the humans may not be entirely human for all we know.”

“And there’s definitely no Humans First supporters among those humans?”

“Not that we found, and we did very thorough background checks, well,” he adds a little sheepishly, “As much as we could on the known non-humans.”

“Okay,” Stiles accepts, “So, Derek, setup the meeting with the alphas of the packs that have been fighting during the full moons. Drazin, dad, and I will look at drawing up a plan of designated areas for them to use and which areas are for everyone to use. They either accept this is our territory and they are only allowed in it on the condition they that they abide by our rules. We say who can use the sections of our territory we allow. If they cannot accept that, then they can get out of Beacon Hills. I will not allow anyone to try and claim any of our territory.”

“When are we drawing up this demarcation plan for the full moons?” his dad asks.

“Tomorrow, instead of going over the I-D schedule and plans again,” Stiles smiles at him, “If we have a list of the known problem packs, and their size, we can try and make sure they have enough area to run in. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a changeling to talk with.”

“Talking of speaking with said changeling,” his dad says before he can leave the room, “We found some details on a Kayode Brooks who was reported missing by his sister in nineteen eight-four.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #### Excerpt from Chapter-7
> 
>   
“Is there anywhere in the Unseelie Court that only the Morrigan could go?” Stiles asks as he barges into Gabriel Matthews’ room unannounced. Gabriel and Neasa scrambling to sit up on the daybed where they were both laying down… cuddling… naked… “Am I interrupting something? Should I come back later?”  
“No, Your Majesty…” Gabriel quickly states.  
“I’ve told you to call me Stiles,” his majesty frowns.  
“We were just dealing with our mutual need of skin contact with another Fae,” Neasa informs him as she stretches back against the plethora of cushions behind her, doing nothing to cover her pert breasts or anything else, “Nothing more.”  
Neither of them is attempting to cover their nakedness, and Stiles then recalls that it would be impolite within Fae society to ask for modesty, or to cover their nudity, in a non-sexual situation. So, he ignores it and carries on.  
“Lucky I got both of you together then, as you’ve both been in the Unseelie Court and are most likely to know,” he smiles, “So, anywhere she could go that no-one else could?”  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not proof-read / beta'd and all mistakes are my own.  

> 
>   
  

> 
>   


Tiome is standing in front of the full-length mirror that is in the bedroom he is using looking over his body. He’s done that every morning since Aiden oiled him for the first time in… he doesn’t know how long. Aiden told him he’d probably need oiled a couple of times a year.

The grain of his wood is showing more than he can recall it doing so before, but maybe it’s just been too long for him to remember; how long has it been since he was last oiled? When did he last see his… Éthur? He still can’t quite get his head around the fact it is now the year twenty-fifteen; he was in the Seelie Court for over three decades. It didn’t feel that long, he had thought only a few years had passed. But all the technological changes he can see around him within this Sithen; the home computers, the telephones they carry around with them, the television screens that are so large and so thin, the devices they listen to music on that don’t use cassette tape… So many of the gadgets seem like marvels out of science fiction.

He turns from the mirror and his thoughts at a rat-tat-tat of someone knocking on the door. He walks over to it and opening the door finds the young king – who prefers to be called Stiles by those living under his roof, as he been told several times – standing there.

“Hi, can we talk?” Stiles asks him, another thing that Tiome isn’t really used to.

“Sure,” he steps back from the door to allow Stiles to enter.

“So,” the sidhe draws out the word as he steps into the room and the blurts out, “My dad’s deputies dug around in the records for Kayode Brooks from New York in the mid nineteen eighties.”

“Why?” The question shoots from Tiome’s lips before he processes his action.

“I asked them to,” the king replies, “You said that you had lost touch with your family wh…”

“I didn’t lose touch,” Tiome growls, “They cut me out of their life because they didn’t want a disgusting faggot who liked being dominated by other men for a son!”

“That’s true of your parents,” Stiles calmly states, “But your younger sister, Simisola, I hope I pronounced that right, she had been looking for you. She had tracked down the address of the apartment that you and Éthur were living in. However, when she got there the building concierge wouldn’t let her up to the apartment as there was no reply. She didn’t take being told that she couldn’t go knock on the door until there was a reply. Apparently, she was able to get them to confirm that no-one from the apartment had been seen entering or leaving the building for several days. With that information she went to the police and reported that you and your boyfriend were missing and hadn’t been seen for several days. At first the police didn’t take it very seriously, but she was persistent, and kept going back to the station daily for an update. Asking if they had talked to the building supervisor, talked with the neighbours, talked with anyone…”

“Simi was always a feisty one,” Tiome reminises.

“Yeah, she certainly sounds like she is,” Stiles smiles at him, “The police finally gained entry to the apartment. The reports say that it looked like it had been ransacked. They started an investigation, but they never found any lead on the whereabouts of the occupants, Mr Asselman and Mr Brooks.”

“I don’t remember much about us leaving, or how we got to the Seelie Court,” the changeling sounds melancholy as he talks, “I can’t even think what the apartment looked like when we left, we didn’t take a lot of stuff with us, I’m sure of that.”

“For the police, the case wasn’t high priority and with no leads quickly became a cold-case. However, your sister hasn’t stopped looking.”

“What?”

“She’s a regular at the NYC Pride, hands out flyers with your picture on it. What you looked like then and a photoshop of what you might look like now. We haven’t contacted her, but…”

“She can’t see me like this!”

“We haven’t contacted her,” Stiles tries to calm the sudden panic Tiome feels, “It’s up to you if you want to contact her…”

“How can I? I’m not human anymore, I’m a plaything made of wood, I…”

“That is also up to you,” Stiles interrupts, “I’m not sure how much I can undo of what Éthur did to you. From what I’ve been told, the magic of the Tuatha Dé Danann, which he was, is very strong and I may not be able to do much. However, the first question is, what do you want?”

The king’s words again weigh heavily on Tiome’s mind. He was so used to just following orders, he liked obeying, he like his master making the decisions for him.

“I don’t… I…” he stops, takes a breath and says, “I want to wear clothes again, I want my cock to only be hard when… you know.”

“Okay,” Stiles smiles, “Let’s see if I can do something about that. I may need to touch you, is that okay?”

Tiome just nods. He’s not used to being asked permission for people to touch him; he was there to be touched, man-handled and used.

Stiles fingers lightly caress along the changeling’s arm that is nearest to him. His magic seeking out the magic placed there to make him hurt and burn if he covers his body in clothing. He feels the light tendril of subtle power at the edges of own as it spreads across the expanse of the changelings naked body. Light and fleeting touches skirting around perimeter of his magic and then, suddenly and without warning it changes. He gasps as magic is ensnared in threads of the other power overwhelming and attempting to snuff out his own. He fights, pouring more of his power down, trying to break free of the grasping tentacles of the magic wrapped around Tiome. His vision blurring at the edges and struggling to breathe, a voice booms in his head, “You cannot have him, he is mine and I will not let you undo what he chose!”

The words echo in his head, ‘what he chose what he chose what he chose’, but he can’t focus on them, he’s too busy trying to breathe and loosen the constricting tendrils of the power trying to bind his. It feels like a struggle that neither side can win, both holding out against the other when he’s hit by the scent of roses filling the air and suddenly he can breathe, the power surrounding him is pushed back and… looking around he knows that he is standing in his Nemeton. The doorways formed by the roots, one to the surface and one on the far cellar wall, the lattice of roots that intertwine through the dirt and stone, forming the walls, leading to… wherever he opens the portal… the whole chamber filled with the iridescent light that falls from… the Goddess only knows. Across from him stands a guy with wavy shoulder-length jet-black hair, brown eyes, and a chiselled jaw line that has a five-day stubble perfectly etched.

“Prince Éthur or do you prefer Mac Cuill?” Stiles wonders aloud, “Or should I call you Arthur? Though that could get very Camelot and…”

“I will not let you undo what my Ayo wanted Unseelie Princeling…”

“I am not Unseelie,” Stiles seethes, quickly calming himself and adding in a less aggressive tone, “I am the King of the Court of Beacon Hills, we are not aligned with either the Seelie or Unseelie Courts.”

“I can see the night-flyer in you. They are only in the Unseelie Court and the roses no longer favour the Seelie Court.”

“What? The roses don’t grow anywhere in the Seelie Court?” Stiles thoughts reach his lips before he realises, “But, there are still some in the Unseelie, I saw them when Great-Great Aunt Morrigan tried to kill me and I had to escape back home…”

“So, you admit your lineage and connection to the Black Throne?”

“Black Throne? Seriously, we’re going with that trope,” Stiles frowns, “Fine, but on that count my Uncle is King Tuireann and he sits on the Golden Throne.” He makes air-quotes as he says, ‘golden throne’, “Thank the Goddess mine is nothing so pretentious as ‘the black throne’ or ‘the golden throne’ and is just a slab of granite that sits on the roots of an ash tree.”

“And you think that isn’t pretentious?” Éthur mocks him, “The vanity of placing a healing stone – known to aid diplomacy and to work as a relationship balancer – as the seat of your power, on top of the roots of the world tree…”

“Not the world tree,” Stiles interrupts, “An ash tree, which I know the Norse legends and that Yggdrasil is an immense ash tree at the centre of the cosmos and connects the nine worlds…” he stops for a moment as something tugs at his thoughts… “Granite aids diplomacy? Really? I let the Sithen choose the throne and how the throne room looked…” it starts to come to him, the thought of what was wrong, “But… wait… how am I talking with you? You’re dead! Or so King Tuireann said, or at least that your brothers believed you were dead…”

“I think I am only mostly dead…”

“Mostly dead is still slightly alive,” Stiles quotes, before paraphrasing, “If you were all dead, the only thing we could do was go through your pockets and look for loose change.” The confusion that is evident on Éthur’s face tells Stiles he’s never seen the film. “Seriously? You haven’t seen The Princess Bride, you know Westley is mostly dead and Inigo takes him to Miracle Max, and…”

“I have no idea what you are talking of,” Éthur states, “I am not here. I placed a link to me in the magic I invested into my Ayo to protect him from anyone who would undo what he willed my magic to change in him. I am held prisoner by the Queen of Air and Darkness; she has me in a sarcophagus filled with Branwyn's Tears…”

“But, The Morrigan is dead,” Stiles exclaims, “How the hell are you still held prisoner? Why haven’t you been freed?”

“I am held where only the personification of Death can enter. And when she does, she strips more of myself from my body…”

** “Stiles… Stiles can you hear me…!” ** the words seem to come from all around him, **“Please, Stiles, wake up!”**

  


Stiles finds himself staring into the panicked faces of Jackson and Danny. He’s still sitting on the bed in the Tiome’s room, only, the walls and ceiling are covered in the roses.

“The roses filled the room when you… you were hyperventilating and I didn’t know what to do, so I ran to find them,” Tiome informs him.

“Thank you,” Stiles says, “I…”

“What happened?” Jackson asks, “Who attacked you? How?”

“I was trying to help Tiome, undoing some of the changes to him that he didn’t want,” Stiles stiltedly tells them, “There was magic set to protect him, that wouldn’t allow me to undo things he had wanted…”

“But I didn’t want them, I wanted you to undo them!” Tiome insists.

“I know,” Stiles soothes him, “But Éthur’s magic doesn’t. It believes the changes are ones you specifically wanted…”

“It’s not like fae magic hasn’t confused random stray fantasy or thought for deep rooted wish before…” Jackson grumbles, thinking of the recent ageing of the kids and the shrinking of his genitals; the latter of which he does now like.

“Yeah, it can do when left to its own devices,” Stiles agrees, “And the more I tried to push past the stronger it became…”

“Wait?!” Danny interrupts, “If it was Éthur’s magic how is it still working? If he is dead, wouldn’t his magic have faded?”

“You mean, if he was dead, I’d be human again?” Tiome asks, his brow creased in confusion.

“No,” Stiles states. “The magic to make you a changeling is complete; it made the changes and that was the end of it. The magic to stop anyone undoing the changes made to you is still active. If he was dead, that may have faded, but it seems he’s only mostly dead…” Stiles explains what happened to him when he smelled the roses, which he guesses must have been when they covered the walls and ceiling of the room.

“Is he alive or is he dead?” Tiome tearfully demands once Stiles has finished recounting his experience, though he quickly casts his eyes downward and adds, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”

“It’s alright,” Stiles reassures him, “This has to be stressful for you, so I get why you would be apprehensive, on edge and need to let off some steam.”

“Though if you were his sub, he’d put you over his knee and spank you for the outburst once everything was resolved,” Jackson jokes, trying to calm the nervous changeling.

“Not if he was Scott,” Danny adds.

“There’s no point spanking Scott as a punishment,” Stiles laughs, “He enjoys it too much. But, back to the point, I have no idea if Éthur is alive or if it was just the remnant of his magic. He, or the image of him, talked of being Queen Morrigan’s prisoner, but she’s dead. My mother is now the Queen of the Unseelie Court.”

“So, what do we do?” Danny asks

“You,” he looks at Tiome, “Need to convince the magic that you want me to undo the changes that mean your cock is always hard and that you can’t wear clothes, and anything else you want undone. I need to find out if there is any way that Prince Éthur could be trapped somewhere in the Unseelie Court that my mother doesn’t know about. He did say something about being where only the personification of death could go…” Stiles gets a look in his eyes before suddenly rising from the bed and heading to the door commenting as he leaves the room, “I need to talk with Gabriel.”

  


“Is there anywhere in the Unseelie Court that only the Morrigan could go?” Stiles asks as he barges into Gabriel Matthews’ room unannounced. Gabriel and Neasa scrambling to sit up on the daybed where they were both laying down… cuddling… naked… “Am I interrupting something? Should I come back later?”

“No, Your Majesty…” Gabriel quickly states.

“I’ve told you to call me Stiles,” his majesty frowns.

“We were just dealing with our mutual need of skin contact with another Fae,” Neasa informs him as she stretches back against the plethora of cushions behind her, doing nothing to cover her pert breasts or anything else, “Nothing more.”

Neither of them is attempting to cover their nakedness, and Stiles then recalls that it would be impolite within Fae society to ask for modesty, or to cover their nudity, in a non-sexual situation. So, he ignores it and carries on.

“Lucky I got both of you together then, as you’ve both been in the Unseelie Court and are most likely to know,” he smiles, “So, anywhere she could go that no-one else could?”

“That depends on what you mean,” Neasa responds, “The Royal Apartments were out of bounds to anyone other than The Queen, her personal guards, and those she invited…”

“No, this is somewhere that only the personification of Death can go…”

“Wait,” Gabriel interrupts, “You mean that only Anann, the personification of Death can go?”

“I think I do,” Stiles says with realisation, sitting on the edge of the daybed beside Gabriel, “She was the three in one. Anann, the personification of Death. Macha, the Sovereign Goddess of War. And she was Babd, the Battle Crow. Is there somewhere in the Unseelie Court that only they could enter?”

“There were rumours,” Neasa begins…

“They are more than rumours,” Gabriel frowns, his features darkening, “She was Macha and Babd, and my father is a Redcap; one of the foot soldiers that fought her wars, her battles, and struck fear, terror, and discord among her enemies…”

“Including the Tuatha Dé Danann,” Stiles states.

“Yes,” Gabriel sighs, “Including the first of us.”

“So, how do we gain entry to this place?” As he finishes the question, Gabriel and Neasa both turn their full attention to Stiles.

“Why would we want to go to the Tearmann an Bháis?” Gabriel asks.

“The Sanctuary of Death? Seriously?” Neasa questions.

“Yes,” he turns to face her, “It is, was, Anann’s sanctuary. It is also where she allegedly kept special prisoners for special treatment…”

“Oh yeah, that’s where we need to go!” Stiles enthuses.

“What?!” both Neasa and Gabriel exclaim, “With all due respect…” “Why would we want to go…” They talk over each other.

“Because I think she has, or at least had, it’s a little unclear, Prince Éthur held there,” he informs them.

“Even if he is there, we cannot enter the Death’s inner sanctum,” Gabriel states, once Stiles has explained what happened with Tiome.

“For a start, the King of the Court of Beacon Hills cannot just enter the Unseelie Court and remove a prisoner of war,” Neasa informs him, “It would be seen as an act of aggression by many Unseelie Fae and make the Queen look weak.”

“My mother is not weak!” Stiles squeaks in protest, adding, “And we’d ask her permission first. Given it is in her Court, somewhere, and presumably she can’t enter it either and would want to gain entrance.”

“I don’t think she will be able to enter it,” Gabriel agrees, “And, I don’t think you will either, even with her permission. It was Anann’s sanctuary. She was one aspect of the Morrigan who was a Triad. I think you would need the three aspects of the Morrigan to enter the sanctuary.”

“Death. War. Battle.” Stiles states, asking, “You sure it would need to be those three aspects to the Triad? Would it even need to be three aspects of a single person? Could it be three different people?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel sighs, “This is rather theoretical.”

“And none of the theories can be proven unless we know where the sanctuary is,” Neasa points out.

Stiles strides towards the door, stating as if it will be the easiest thing to do, “So, we look for it. I’ll contact my mom, and tell her what we know, and that we want to find the sanctuary and save Prince Éthur.”

  


“No Stiles, that just is not possible,” Queen Iseabail repeats, “You have to realise…”

“But Mom!” he does not whine.

“King Tighearnach,” her use of his official title and name is like a splash of cold water, “You are, as I have previously declared, an ally of the Unseelie Court. However, if King Tuireann of the Seelie Court or I were to ask you to allow members of our courts to roam unheeded around our territory looking for something that we did not know where it was , what it looked like, or if it even existed you would not allow it, would you?” Stiles cannot deny it, the thought of outsiders roaming around his territory doing who knows what is not acceptable to him. “So,” the Queen of Life and Old Blood continues, “You should not be surprised that I will not allow it either.”

“But if Prince Éthur is alive, and Tiome, his changeling is now part of my Court…”

“**IF**!” she stresses the word as she interrupts him, “He is within **MY** territory, whether alive or dead, then my guards will find him, and  **I** shall inform him of the whereabouts of his changeling.” The mirror darkens as she cuts the contact.

The call with his mother did not go as he expected. Stiles paces the back and forth in the den trying to figure the reason for his mom’s outright refusal. She didn’t even counter his request with an offer of two of his people and two of hers working together or give him the chance to ask for that; not that he really wanted too. He wants to find the sanctuary and get Prince Éthur here in his court where Tiome is.

“There are rumours that there are some at court who are closer in blood to the Morrigan and feel that they should be sitting on the throne,” Neasa’s words pull Stiles from his pondering and pacing, “That they have some support and have attempted coups against the Queen…”

“Meaning what?” Stiles asks, trying to keep the rising panic he feels out of his voice, “That they have tried to kill my mom?”

“That tends to be how coups go in the Fae Courts,” his Lord High Treasurer continues, “It is how she became Queen.”

“And she doesn’t want anyone from my court going to the Unseelie Court because she is trying to hide the from me?” Stiles cautiously ponders aloud, feeling certain that it isn’t the case.

“She may hope to keep the threats from you,” Gabriel responds, “It is more likely that she believes that you know, and that your request to send people to the Unseelie to search for the Tearmann an Bháis is in part a ploy to send back up to her guards…”

“Which,” Neasa takes over the reply, “If she allowed would be seen as a weakness and cause her to lose support and increase the threat to her; something she does not need having already called a truce with the Tuatha.”

“So,” Stiles huffs after a few moments of contemplating everything Neasa and Gabriel just relayed to him, “If I was to try a more clandestine approach it would be seen as threat to her authority and would make matters worse,” at the affirmation from his advisor and tutor he continues, “Meaning the only option I have is to wait.”

Neasa and Gabriel nod in agreement. Stiles huff of breath as he crosses his arms over his chest make it clear it’s not an option he likes.

  


Stiles is sitting in the largest chair at the table, his glamour is down, and he is in his full Fae Mien. It is a calculated guess on his part that none of the alphas will realise who he is and assume he is just a fae member of the court representing the King. To his right was Derek, then Scott, then his dad. To his left sat Parrish. He has then in this order deliberately. So, that on their side of the table Derek is in the centre. The Alpha.

Across the table are the alphas of the six packs that have been causing disruption during the full moons. He had the table and chairs set out in the marquee he had erected in a small glade in the preserve. The roses soon covered the tent, and when the alphas and their seconds entered, the roses sealed the only entrance in or out of the structure. It’s probably why the six alphas look a little uncomfortable in their chairs. As do their seconds standing behind them.

Alpha Frank Rubio looks like your typical thug. A scar cutting from above his left eyebrow down through the five o’clock shadow covering his face. His hair thick and wavy on his dead with a hint of grey starting to show through. He hasn’t dressed to impress, with an all denim attire of shirt, jeans, and a pair of leather biker boots, he’s dressed for his pleasure.

Alpha Jessie Mathis, at twenty-six, is the youngest of the six, but Stiles knows that doesn’t make her any less dangerous. She’s known for having a ruthless streak, of going after whatever she wants and doing whatever it takes to get it. The red dress looks like it was sprayed on. It’s fashionably cut and tailored to accentuate her ample curves, but then every detail of her look is calculated to highlight her good-looks; the light touch of pale make-up, the red gloss of her nails and lip-stick, and shine to lustrous flowing black hair.

Alpha Samuel Douglas has the look of a Wall Street corporate financier; one of the aggressive, ruthless and completely immoral, unscrupulous ones. His hair slicked back, his blue shirt with contrasting white collar and cuffs, the Full Windsor knot in his blue checked tie and the matching pocket square in the pinstriped suit. The large gold cufflinks and watch. Stiles has to smother the laugh that threatens to escape every time he looks at the man as he imagines him snarling ‘ _greed is good’._

Alpha Baptiste Lambert was one of the first to move his pack to Beacon Hills. He has taken over the running of the local art gallery with his second – who is also his lover, they’ve never officially stated they are mates apparently – Kade Darcy Lewis. Alpha Lambert’s father, the former alpha of the pack – until they were attacked by hunters and run out of their homes and territory around Zachary, Louisiana – was originally from Bamenda in Cameroon, but settled in United States when he married and joined his wife’s pack. He, like Rubio, has dressed casually, for his comfort rather than to show power. It’s a preppy collegiate style rather than denim.

Alpha Xuan Lopez, at sixty-three, is the oldest of the six pack leaders. Born in Costa Rica, Alpha Lopez has lived most of his life in New York state. He brought his pack here from Yonkers in Westchester County. Lopez is wearing a casual pair of slacks and a mismatching blazer. His shirt collar is open, showing the gold St Christopher around his neck.

Alpha Adrienne Vincent is the one alpha that does not look unnerved by Stiles’ roses. She sits in the chair as if she were on a throne with her second – her son, Calvin – standing stoically behind her. She’s dressed in a simple black suit; the jacket and pants are clearly tailored, and the glitter from the diamond earrings, necklace, and bracelet is intended to dazzle. Stiles is reminded of the Morrigan as he lets his gaze fall on her, only less… disturbed. She is like the sphinx and is giving nothing away.

“You were allowed to settle you packs in our territory under conditions that you all agreed to,” Derek begins as he pushes a copy of the planned assigned areas across the desk to each of them. “You have not abided by those conditions. Instead your packs have fought for territory…”

“That is not available to be taken,” Scott adds while the attention of the alphas is on the papers in front of them.

“And disrupted the peace during the full moon,” Derek continues, “So, we have drawn up plan of where your packs are allowed to be during the full moon. You will stick to these areas, if any of your pack deviate or attempt to claim our territory as your territory again, you and your pack will be removed from Beacon Hills. Is that clear?” It doesn’t surprise Stiles that Alpha Douglas is the first to snarl.

“Seriously?!” Alpha Corporate Raider’s lips curl as he growls at Derek, “You expect my pack to traipse out to the city limits every full moon to…”

“Yes.” Derek cuts him off, “If you don’t like it, leave Beacon Hills.”

“In three days, this territory becomes subject to werewolf law,” Douglas mistakenly states, “I could just challenge you…”

“You don’t think that would be a mistake?” Stiles asks, “To challenge the Alpha of the McCall-Hale pack? The pack that the King of the Fae Court of Beacon Hills, the ruler of the Náisiún Osnádúrtha Fhlaitheasach Cnoic Beacon, the Sovereign Supernatural Nation of Beacon Hills, is a part of?” 

“The boy king isn’t a werewolf, he’s…”

“My son,” John cuts the alpha off before he finishes whatever insult he was about to say.

“And there are more than werewolves in our pack,” Derek smiles at alpha across from him, it’s not a kind smile, “We have werewolves, fae, humans, changelings, hunters, dragon-banes,” Parrish allows his eyes to shift, causing a murmur of ‘The King’s Dragon’, to go through the seconds standing at the backs of their seated alphas.

“And me,” Stiles smiles, showing his rows of sharp pointed teeth, “The Boy-King. Pack Master of the McCall-Hale Pack.”

“I… meant no disrespect…” Alpha Douglas starts to back pedal from the precarious position he has landed himself in.

“Yes, you did,” Stiles interjects, “And every intended offence taken. If any of you seriously think you can challenge my pack to take this territory from us, you are mistaken. This land will protect us,” the roses rustle their leaves, “So, I suggest you consider the Oath you took when you crossed into our territory and met with Alpha Hale or Alpha McCall. In that **Oath**,” Stiles stresses the word, “ you recognised the territory belongs to the McCall-Hale Pack, you accepted Alpha Hale and Alpha-Omega McCall have authority over the land, and you swore you and your pack would abide by conditions they imposed on you in order to be allowed to remain. One of those conditions is that you, or those you represent, do not intend malice towards the McCall-Hale Pack, it’s alphas or members. Now, I chose the wording of the condition carefully as you may have realised. Given that in some cases a pack was being represented by one member of that pack the condition had to apply to every member of the pack when the Oath was given. And malice, that has quite the range of possibilities doesn’t it. The dictionary defines it as a desire to inflict harm or suffering on another, the desire to do harm or mischief, evil intent, harmful intent on the part of a person who commits an unlawful act injurious to another. I’m sure I don’t need to belabour the point further.”

“I assure you…”

“I haven’t finished Alpha Douglas,” Stiles sharply states, “So, if any of you are so much as thinking of becoming Oath breakers, I suggest you and your pack get out of Beacon Hills as quickly as possible, and may the Goddess show you mercy should you ever cross into our territory again.”

“I can assure you, King Tighearnach, Alpha Hale, and Alpha-Omega McCall,” Alpha Lopez slowly states, “That my pack and I are grateful for the opportunity to build a new life for ourselves within your territory, and we will happily abide by the conditions to continue to co-habit the land with you.” A swift succession of agreements follows from Alphas Rubio and Lambert.

“My pack and I came here to thrive, and we can abide by the conditions set out and look to remain in Beacon Hills while we are able to prosper,” Alpha Mathis smiles in response.

“I give my Oath that neither my pack nor I bear any malice to the McCall-Hale Pack,” Alpha Vincent formally begins, “Nor do we seek to take you territories or authority from you or yours. We will happily abide by the condition of co-habiting in Náisiún Osnádúrtha Fhlaitheasach Cnoic Beacon,” her pronunciation is perfect, “And look forward to building an alliance between our packs.” All those around the table, except her son Calvin, look stunned.

“Thank you, we should discuss the potential of an alliance another time,” Derek simply replies. Alpha Vincent smiles and nods.

“I…” Alpha Douglas begins to say.

“Will be out of Beacon Hills in twenty-four hours,” Scott harshly states, “You and all your pack.”

“But…”

“Careful,” Stiles rises out of the chair, his hand placed palm down on the table in front of him as he interrupts the alpha, “I can tell when you speak falsely, and it doesn’t work the same way that werewolves tell when someone is lying. I don’t need to listen for a skip in your heartbeat or look for signs of stress. I know when what you are telling me is a lie. So, if you are about to say that your pack will abide by the Oath given then I advise you to make sure it is the truth. Otherwise, you will not be leaving this marquee, and your pack will not get out of Beacon Hills.”

Alpha Douglas remains silent.

Turning to the roses, Stiles says, “Allow everyone safe passage out of the preserve,” adding, “While they keep their Oath. And the Douglas pack have twenty-four hours to be out of our territory.” There’s a rustling through leaves, almost as if in anticipation, before the entrance to the tent is revealed.

Alpha Douglas aims for appearing unaffected by the events in the tent. He rises from his chair, stands tall and straight as he strides to the entrance, his second following quickly on his heel, and leaves without a backward glance.

Alpha Mathis is the next to leave with a curt nod and an almost whispered, “Your Majesty.” Once she is outside the tent, she seems to forget herself as those inside can hear her grumble, “If I’d known about the hike through the woods, I would have worn more appropriate shoes.”

“It has been an honour and a pleasure, You Majesty,” Alpha Vincent says as she rises and curtsies. Turning to Derek and Scott she nods respectfully, “Alpha Hale, Alpha-Omega McCall, I look forward to discussing the building an alliance between our packs, with you and your Master.” As she leaves, she pricks one of her fingers with the claw of her index finger and allows some of her blood to drip onto the roses. Her son Calvin does the same and turns to smile at the McCall-Hale pack before exiting the tent.

The remaining alphas seem non-plussed by the actions of Alpha Vincent and her second. It doesn’t stop Rubio and Lambert from copying them and leaving their own few drops of blood on the roses as they bow to the King and give respect to the McCall-Hale Alphas before leaving.

“Alpha Vincent has surprised all of us today, I think,” Alpha Lopez huffs a defeated laugh, “I had hoped to raise the prospect of alliance between us after the business of the meeting had concluded, but she stole my opportunity I think.”

“Not necessarily,” Derek smiles at the old Alpha, “We can build alliances with more than one pack. We already have an alliance with Alpha Boyd’s pack, and we can certainly consider one with your pack.”

“You may not want to once you know everything,” Alpha Lopez confesses, “We were a pack over four dozen wolves and humans, now we are six beta werewolves and broken old man of an Alpha. Driven from our territory by a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Stiles exclaims.

“And we need protection,” the alpha wheezes the words.

“Abuelito Lopez, you need to rest and need to return to the house for your medication,” his second fusses over him.

“We can discuss this another time,” Derek responds.

“Thank you, Alpha Hale,” Lopez’s second smiles as he helps the old Alpha to leave.

The McCall-Hale pack are left to clear the marquee from the dell.

  


Stiles is mulling over the events at the meeting as he makes his way back to his Sithen.

His dad had told him that he didn’t believe the packs of Alpha Rubio, Alpha Lambert, and Alpha Lopez were the cause of any of the troubles during the full moons; they were just getting themselves caught up in the trouble. And from the meeting with the alphas that seems likely. Though of those three Alpha Lopez has piqued his interest most, with his talk of ghosts.

Alpha Mathis, now she tried to give the impression of being someone totally vacuous and only concerned with her looks. But that doesn’t match the reputation that has followed her. She’s known for being ruthless. So, why did she even try, and the comment as she left. She had to know she could be heard, so, why make it? Something doesn’t add up, and he’s going to want to keep tabs on what she and her pack are up to.

And talking, or thinking as Stiles is currently doing, of what doesn’t add up. Alpha Douglas. The man, werewolf, still dresses like the Wall Street financier that he used to be. Before he lost his fortune. The word had been he moved out here to get a fresh start, with the few betas that hadn’t left his pack when his luck ran out and the fates turned against him. He is supposed to be smart and well informed. The man sitting in the meeting seemed neither.

Which brings him to Alpha Vincent. Now she was cool, calm, and everything she said and did spoke of knowledge he didn’t think any of them would have. Despite the fact she did not lie when she gave the Oath or spoke of an alliance between their packs, she seems the most dangerous one to him. Maybe just because her demeanour reminded him so much of the Queen of Air and Darkness, but until he knows differently, he will keep his guard up.

For now, he has a changeling to try and make less wooden. So, all thoughts on the alphas need to be set aside, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #### Excerpt from Chapter-8
> 
>   
“Aaargh,” Scott gasps as he grabs the headboard.  
“That’s a good boy, keep your hands off your cock,” Derek praises him as he drives his dick into his alpha-mates ass, pounding him hard. His hands move slowly along Scott’s skin, moving from his hips, up along his sides until he is cupping his chest, his fingers teasing and squeezing at Scott’s nipples.  
“Mmmhhh, please, Derek,” Scott moans, a little of his milk dribbling down his chest.  
A low rumble of a growl emanates from Derek’s chest as he inhales the scent and reverberates through Scott’s body.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. This work is not beta'd or proof-read by anyone else and all mistakes are my own.
> 
>   
  


Stiles smacked Danny’s ass as he pulled his cock back until only the head was held in the ring of muscle before he plunged the length back into his mate, causing Danny to moan around Jackson’s cock and balls while his own length went deeper into Jackson’s throat.

“Aargh!” Stiles cried as he collapsed against Danny’s back as his load filled werewolf’s ass. Danny was holding himself from collapsing on their mate beneath him as he filled Jackson’s mouth as he swallowed down Jackson’s.

“Fuck!” Stiles panted, “That is a great way to start the day.”

“It sure is,” Danny smirks, turning his head to kiss Stiles. The werewolf moans into the kiss as Jackson’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock before he suddenly lets the still heavy meat fall from his lips.

“Hey, I want some kisses too,” the omega whines as he tries to scramble out from under both his mates.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles laughs, “We have enough kisses to go around.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Aiden could feel the fur brush back and forth against his leg and couldn’t hold in the laugh that burst from him as he looked down his at his mate sprawled between his legs and half over him.

“You’re very happy,” he smiles at Matt. The changeling raises his head from Aiden’s chest and looks at him.

“Who wouldn’t be with two sexy mates that love them?” Matt smiles at them.

“Hmmm,” Aiden grins, “True. Though our other mate spent the night in the ‘littles’ nursery with Izzy, and as he’s the only one of us whose cock isn’t locked up, we can’t do much about the sexiness…” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Well, we did ask our master to take control of our cocks, and we could do something about the sexiness if we use the toys…” Matt grins, “There is the double ended one we could try.”

“We could, but what if we only make ourselves hornier and…”

“Well, we won’t get hard in these cock cages, but we might cum…”

“You think we could have an orgasm without being able to get hard?”

“Wanna find out?”

“Let’s get that toy,” Aiden grins as he rises from their bed.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Aaargh,” Scott gasps as he grabs the headboard.

“That’s a good boy, keep your hands off your cock,” Derek praises him as he drives his dick into his alpha-mates ass, pounding him hard. His hands move slowly along Scott’s skin, moving from his hips, up along his sides until he is cupping his chest, his fingers teasing and squeezing at Scott’s nipples.

“Mmmhhh, please, Derek,” Scott moans, a little of his milk dribbling down his chest.

A low rumble of a growl emanates from Derek’s chest as he inhales the scent and reverberates through Scott’s body

“We should keep you lactating,” Derek whispers at Scott’s ear, “Keep your tits filled with milk for Izzy and Ethan to suckle after the kids stop feeding from you and Jackson. Do you think if you’re the only one producing milk for them you might end up needing an A-cup bra instead of the AA you barely fill?”

“Fuck, no, Derek, fuck…” Scott roars as he sprays his release over the bed below him.

“Fuck, Scott, I haven’t even got my knot in you,” Derek pants as he picks up the pace, fucking his mate through his orgasm.

“I don’t… I don’t know why I came so quick,” Scott whines, “I never come that quickly when I’m not allowed to touch myself.”

“Maybe,” Derek pants as he thrusts into Scott, his knot swelling, “You like the idea of your chest always being filled with milk.”

“No,” Scott blushes.

“You sure?” Derek grins as his knot catches and he starts to fill Scott with his load, “We know how much you like your nipples clamped and played with. And I think you like Izzy and Ethan suckling from you.”

Scott just blushes more.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Liam wakes with the weight of his half-dragon-half-incubus mate on top of him, and the feel of his hole stretched with the hard cock still filling it. He smiles to himself and a soft satisfied moan escapes his lips. He knows they fucked and came last night, and he remembers that Jordan’s cock was still in him when they were yawning and talking of getting cleaned up… did they actually fall asleep before he had even pulled out?

He clenches around the hard shaft and pulls his hips forward slightly before pushing back, fucking himself on the thick pole. As his own cock hardens at the sensation of the hard length brushing against his prostate with each thrust and he quickly finds himself trying to increase the speed and depth of his movements. A frustrated and horny grunt of exasperation erupts from his lips as he can’t move his hips as far as he needs.

“You could always ask,” Jordan chuckles from Liam’s back.

“Yeah, well, if you didn’t fall asleep after we fucked last night…”

“I didn’t,” Jordan corrects him, “I cleaned us both up, while you fell asleep, than when I woke up during the night, your tight little hole was winking at me to fill it back up, so I did. Didn’t want to wake you up by fucking you again, so I just lay down and used you as a nice cock warmer. Then I fell asleep.”

“Well, you can fuck me now,” Liam whines, “Waking up with you already in me has got me horny and I need to come.”

“Brat,” Jordan smacks Liam’s ass.

“Ow! What’s that for?”

“Well, it’s hardly punishment now is it,” Jordan smirks, “So, you can count it as an enjoyable reminder of who’s the Dom in this relationship,” as he pushes himself up, arms either side of the boy under him, and begins thrusting in and out of Liam’s hole with greater speed and force.

“Finally,” Liam sighs as he arches back into the pounding his mate is giving him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Hey, Izzy,” Ethan cards his fingers through Isaac’s hair where the curly-haired wolf lay next to him in the large crib. They were both in the footed onsie pjs that their alphas put over their diapers last night.

“Eephan?” as soon as the sleepy head says his name, Ethan knows Isaac is still in his little headspace. Ethan wasn’t, he may still be diapered, but on waking up after a night’s sleep he is always his adult self.

“Hey buddy,” he smiles, “You have a good night?”

Isaac nods, a shy smile breaking across his face.

“That’s good. Me too, it was fun playing together last night.” They had spent the evening colouring books and playing with some Duplo bricks, before Scott and Derek changed their diapers and then Scott fed them – his milk, directly from him – before they were settled down in the crib for the night. He and Isaac snuggled together as they suckled on their pacifiers and drifted off to sleep.

“Me ish weht,” Izzy sleepily states.

“Me too,” Ethan huffs, “Do you want to wait for your daddy to change you, or shall I clean us both up?”

“Cwean four daddy.”

“Okay,” Ethan sits up, “Just let me get the latch on this crib and I’ll get you clean for your daddy,” as he slides the guard rail of the crib down and swings his legs over the side, he adds, “We can sit in the bath together to get cleaned before I put fresh diaper on you, huh, that sound like fun?”

Isaac smiles and nods in agreement.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Kayode stared at himself in the mirror; again. He still couldn’t quite get over how much like his old self he looked, and at the same time it was clear he was still a changeling. He may be flesh and blood again, but his skin shimmers with the grain of the ebony wood and his blood is like the sap of the tree. And sap after all is the blood of a tree; filled with nutrients and minerals, it carries energy out into the limbs of the tree. King Tighearnach, Stiles – he must remember that the king asked to be called Stiles – confirmed that he is a Manikin, an Elemental Changeling, and therefore he still is free of the disease that nearly killed him.

Tearing his thoughts away from that dark time, he considers his reflection again. He appears no older than he did when Éthur took him into the Seelie Court in nineteen eighty-four, over thirty years ago; a young man in his mid-twenties, rather than the fifty-four-year-old he really is. King Tigh… Stiles says he will age far slower than a human, but only if he remains in a Fae Freehold, like Beacon Hills, or goes back across the Hedge to Arcadia and lives in the Seelie or Unseelie Court. If he chooses to live in the mundane world, as Stiles referred to the human controlled world outside of the Fae or other supernatural freeholds, he will age and could age faster than a human.

He’s not sure of the reception he would receive outside of the fae courts, so, choosing to remain in Beacon Hills was easy. For now. And Stiles even offered him a job; as the Usher an Rí, the King's Usher. A position he’ll share with Aiden. While Aiden’s duties are more along the lines of a Valet, his duties are that of a personal assistant or secretary. A chance to use some of the skills his degree gave him, and a chance to bring them up to date in this futuristic world he now finds himself in.

He still hasn’t agreed to contact his sister. The idea still fills him with dread. After all this time that has passed, he can’t imagine what she will think how he looks. Or of what he allowed to be done to him in order to live. He doesn’t even know how he’d respond if she asked what his life was like. She may be accepting of same-sex relations, but could he explain to her about being submissive, of wanting to be dominated by someone else? His parents never understood, how can expect his sister to?

No. For now, he can’t even think of contacting her. No matter how much he’d like to.

  
  


The alpha wolf contemplated the fae artefact in their hand.

It has proven itself to be extremely useful. Even the little king himself was taken in. They aren’t sure exactly how the thing works. Only that shields their thoughts and allows them to influence others, but only in so far as being able to amp up existing or dormant thoughts and emotions. Such as Alpha Douglas’s resentment of having lost everything he had while Alpha Hale has all of Beacon Hills. The man had intended to play by the rules and rebuild his pack and his fortunes within the other alpha’s territory, but a little push from the artefact and that little kernel of resentment soon built and spilled over.

Now they just need to work this stolen fae magic on the rest of the packs; tear them down and build up their own. Then they can make their final move.

  
  


“He’s moved his pack across the border into forest around Beacon Town,” John is informing his son of the movement of the Douglas pack. They are sitting at the round table in the Council Chamber in the Sithen; John, Stiles, Parrish, Derek, Scott, Neasa, and Drazin. John continues, “His second sent this to the station, for it to be passed on to you.” He hands Stiles a letter, the envelope has been opened. Stiles look, John adds, “We had to check the contents, make sure there was nothing harmful inside.”

“What about the other packs?” Stiles asks as he takes the letter from the envelope and starts to read, “Tomorrow is our big day, I’m not expecting trouble, but…”

“The other packs are keeping pretty much to themselves,” Parrish reports, “Rubio, Lambert, and Lopez pack members seem to mostly interact with the non-pack wolves. I think they are trying to see if any are worth considering asking to join their ranks. When they do cross paths, they look friendly enough.”

“Vincent are keeping mostly to themselves,” John adds, “But they have been seen around the loft that Alpha Boyd and his pack reside in. Mathis pack have hardly been noticed since the meeting.”

“It’s been almost two days,” Stiles looks up from the letter, “How have they hardly been seen in two days?” he sits back in the chair, “If what Douglas’s second claims in this letter is true, then someone at that meeting did something to him right under our noses. Right under my nose and my Sithen’s roses and we didn’t see it.”

“Worrying this is,” Drazin intones, “Magic in your Sithen without your knowledge should not be possible to use. This difficult to even the most powerful of fae should be.”

“Difficult, but not impossible,” Neasa states, “If what they, whoever they are, is not actively acting against the King, it is possible he and the Sithen would not notice.”

“True this is.”

“Okay, Yoda,” Stiles smirks at the goblinoid, “So, we need eyes on them,” he turns to the roses that are covering the walls, “Spread across Beacon Hills, keep watch for any threat.” Turning back to the table, “But if they fooled the roses in the meeting, we need some back up…”

“There are some people that may go unnoticed,” Parrish conversationally mentions, at Stiles raised eyebrows he continues, “There are some demi-fae that applied to join the King’s Guard; they hoped that being part of your court would mean they would regain the ability to shift between their small size and average human size…”

“You mean the forest sprites of the Seelie Court, or the blood sprites of the Unseelie?” Neasa asks.

“Both, I think,” Parrish answers.

“How many of them?” Stiles enquires.

“There’s been at least twenty,” Parrish says, adding with some embarrassment, “At first I thought there were some kind of humming birds, or largish butterflies, coming into the office station, but when they started talking more slowly I realised that birds and insects don’t tend to speak English.”

“Okay, so can they make themselves human sized?” John asks, “If not, how would they work as bodyguards?”

“Whether they can or can’t,” Stiles smiles, “They could work well as spies. Okay my dragon, find out who’s interested and best suited to the job, select the best and they report to you. Use the umbral room for interviews, we need eyes on the other packs like yesterday.”

“Daddy, daddy,” Dermot Lahey-Stilinski appears in the room and runs to Stiles, “Michaew won’t weth me pway wiff Lucas! Teww him am awwowed to pway wiff Lucas.”

“How the f… in the Goddess’s name did you appear out of thin air?” Stiles asks his son when the shock wears off. Dermot throws his arms out to the side in a close approximation of Stiles shrugging, clearly indicating ‘I don’t know’, before pulling himself up into his father’s lap.

“Okay,” Stiles turns his attention back to the others around the table, “Before we go and find out why Michael is against Dermot playing with Lucas,” he says looking at Scott and Derek, “The meeting with Alpha Lopez to find out about…” he changes his mind about mentioning ‘ghosts’ with Dermot sitting on his lap, “The reason he moved to Beacon Hills is arranged for next week. But the day before that, we have the meeting with Alpha Vincent. Both meetings are gonna be here in the Sithen, in this very room. Any other business?”

A chorus of “Nos” come from around the table.

“Okay then, Scott, Derek, let’s go see why your eldest says your youngest can’t play with Dermot,” Stiles states, rising from the chair and holding Dermot on his hip.

“Yeah!” Dermot exclaims.

  
  


“If I was Stiles,” Chris says as he stretches between John and Melissa in their bed, “I’d be more concerned about Dermot just appearing where ever he is than Michael being jealous of how much time Lucas plays with Dermot that he smells like him.”

“You think his powers are manifesting too soon?” Melissa asks.

“I was actually thinking, what if he pops into Stiles’ bedroom while he, Jackson, and Danny are engaged in what we were just doing…”

“Oh my!” Melissa exclaims, while John just laughs.

“And what about the other fae kids?” Chris wonders, “What if Iseabail and Reamann have a similar ability?”

“I’m not sure that it was Dermot’s own powers,” John supposes, “Stiles’ spark didn’t manifest until he was six, and even then, he was only capable of simple magics. Then his mom had to bind his powers before he showed signs of anything else. I think the Sithen knew he was upset and wanted his dad.”

“Did you tell Stiles that?” Melissa asks.

“No,” John smiles, Melissa and Chris start snickering while he continues, “I figured he’d work it out eventually.”

  
  


Stiles stands in behind the podium, his fingers tapping against the side of the tablet laying on it with the speech that Drazin and Neasa prepared for him. He looks up and stares out over the sea of faces and cameras before him that are streaming his image and voice around the world. A fact he tries to ignore. He smiles wanly and begins, “If I may paraphrase the words of some of those who have founded nations before me. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all peoples are created equal, that they are endowed with certain unalienable Rights, and that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” He pauses, huffing out a breath, a wane smile crossing his lips before he strays from the words on the tablet, saying, “That is something that a lot of people seem to have forgotten these days,” he pauses again, “All peoples have the **Right**,” he stresses the word and his voice becomes louder, and his tone harsher, “**To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. All peoples are equal**.” He grips the side of the podium, breathes out through his nose as he calms himself before continuing, his prepared speech now ignored, “How can we call ourselves a civilised society when we allow bigotry toward anyone who is different from ourselves; be it their species, their beliefs, their gender, their sexuality, the colour of their skin, or whatever it is that makes them different, makes them ‘not us’? How can we be civilised if we don’t allow people the right of life because they cannot afford health care? How can we be civilised if we think only the rich have the right to an education?”

“I read a couple of quotes in an article, maybe it was more than one article, and they have stuck with me,” he continues, “The first is from Vivienne Westwood; she said, ‘We have got to change our **ethics and our financial system and our whole way of understanding the world**. It has to be a world in which people live rather than die; **a sustainable world**. It could be great.’ The second one is, ‘**Taxes are what we pay for civilized society, for modernity, and for prosperity**. The wealthy pay more because **they have benefitted more**.’ That one is from Jill Lepore.” He can see there is some unease among the crowd, he licks at his dry lips and continues, “I mean, think about the society we can build, a prosperous forward thinking, civilised society where everyone has access to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. A society where everyone is equal and treated fairly, paid a living wage and doesn’t need to work three jobs and have no work-life balance, and those that earn more pay a little more in tax to help build that sustainable world.”

There’s applause and cheering from the crowd. Not all of the crowd, and some of the applause is more enthusiastic than most of it. Stiles is sure that the non-humans are the ones cheering him on, and some of the more liberal humans, but there is a large minority that are… at best less enthusiastic.

“There is another quote I rather like,” his lips curl up as his smile widens, he knows this will not endear him to those already against him, “Bernie Sanders said, ‘Democratic socialism means, that in a democratic, **civilized society, the wealthiest people and the largest corporations must pay their fair share of taxes**.’ Now, there is a problem with that when applying it to Náisiún Osnádúrtha Fhlaitheasach Cnoic Beacon. This Sovereign Nation is not a democracy. We are a Monarchy, and I am King of Beacon Hills. But, as you may have gathered, I am a fan of these left-wing, liberal ideologies. And what is socialism?”

“**Communism! **And I’d rather be dead than red!” the words are bellowed from somewhere in the crowd and an angry murmur of agreement follows them.

“No,” Stiles forcefully states, “It is not. Socialism is an ideology that states all people are equal and should share and benefit from the nation’s wealth. Now,” he lifts his hand, pointing upward at nothing, “If we recall the words of the United States founding fathers,” he repeats the words he quoted earlier, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all peoples are created **equal, that they are endowed with certain unalienable Rights**, and that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” His eyes scan the crowd as he finishes, “While I rule this nation, I will hold these truths as the guiding principle of how I govern. It doesn’t matter whether you are human, fae, werewolf, werecat, or any other species,” he continues, “All are equal as a citizen of Beacon Hills. All have the right to be safe and to have access to health care and education. These are not luxuries that should only be available to those with money to afford them. They are necessities for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Comhairleoir Cúirte Drazin, the Lord Chamberlain, will now inform you of how the Beacon Hills government structure will be formed and operate.”

As he leaves the podium, he knows he won’t have changed everyone’s mind. He just hopes that some of them will at least give some thought to what he said and do what he did; research the arguments for themselves. And not on social media.

  
  


“The young King reportedly went of script, ditching the carefully crafted speech prepared by his aides and advisors and made it very clear that he plans to rule his kingdom as some form of Socialist Monarchy. How that will work…” Stiles clicks the remote, changing the channel, “…he even went so far as to claim the founding fathers of the United States were socialist!” He clicks the remote again switching the television off.

“I never said the founding fathers were socialists! Socialism didn’t exist” he slumps down against the back of the chair, his fist hitting the arm with a thump as scowls at the now blank screen, “Why are they misrepresenting what I said, and why are they concentrating on my speech so much instead of the fun that people had afterwards, or on the speech Drazin gave?!”

“Because,” Neasa sits forward in her chair, her hands held out in front of her, “Reporting the dry facts of how your General Assembly will work, which positions will be appointed by you and which will be elected by the people is not as clickbait worthy as,” she stretches her arms outward in a wide arc, her voice dropping to a lower pitch as she loudly says her mock headline, “Teenage King Declares the Founding Fathers Were Left-wing Liberals.”

“Ha, ha,” Stiles tries to hide his smirk behind the fake laugh, while his dad doesn’t even bother to hide his chuckle like Derek and Jordan do, “As amusing as that is, they ought to be reporting on how the elections will be run, on how the assembly will operate, on the positions that will be appointed by me and those that will be elected. Those are more important than the fake news of what I didn’t say!”

“You know that was never going to be the case,” his dad guffaws, “Those **News,**” the emphasis of the word is filled with sarcasm, “Outlets are less concerned with facts than they are of scoring political points for their board of directors and shareholders.”

“We can counter that with the press release to the local news stations and publishers, and the mailing to every household in Beacon Hills detailing the points from the Drazin’s speech,” Neasa states, “It won’t counter all the distraction being caused by the sensationalist coverage, but it will at least give those that want to know the specifics of government in the sovereignty the facts. It will also inform them to expect the census form in the coming weeks, and that completion of the census is mandatory.”

“And it will explain the voting system, right?” Stiles bites at his lips as he asks.

“Yes, don’t worry,” Neasa smiles, “It explains the proportional representation…”

“And,” Drazin intercedes, “Compulsory that while voting is not, a supervisor elected to the assembly that the district will not have, if no candidate can secure more than fifty percent of the possible electoral votes.”

“And,” Neasa adds, “It explains they are to rank the candidates, one, two three, etcetera, that they can’t rank two candidates the same, and they don’t have to rank every candidate on the ballot, only those they want to.”

“And,” Drazin adds, “Positions that appoint you will, and that elected those are, it covers. Hrmm.”

“And, I am assuming,” Stiles voice lilts upwards questioningly as he states, “That it makes clear that all voting in elections will be overseen by the National Democratic Institute, and not by us?”

A chorus of “Yes”, “Indeed”, and “Absolutely” is heard from those assembled.

“Okay, let’s wrap it up, we’ve,” Stiles nods in the direction of Derek and Jordan, “Got breakfast to go have with our pack and kids to go help look after.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Walking back to the pack wing of the Sithen with Derek and Jordan, Stiles ponders aloud, “Do you think the reporters didn’t focus on Drazin ‘cause they didn’t understand him? Yanno, ‘cause he talks like he’s a character in Star Wars.”

“He didn’t once say ‘Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you?’” Derek affects the sound of Drazin’s voice as he quips.

“Nor did he say, ‘Named must your fear be before banish it you can’.” Jordan adds, giving his own impression of the voice so like that of the film character.

“Har, har,” Stiles frowns at them as before stomping quickly ahead, ignoring their snickering.

  
  


Adrianne Vincent is sitting in the chair across from Derek and Scott McCall-Hale, the Alpha pair, and de facto alphas of Beacon Hills. Her son, Calvin, sits next to her. They are in the Council Chamber; Kayode Brooks, one of the King’s Ushers – she was informed – showed them through from the Vestibule, into the Throne Room, and then through into this large assembly hall.

She was impressed with young King’s choice of decor in the Vestibule and corridors, harking back to European grandeur in a time long gone. The Throne Room was overly dramatic for her own tastes, but the power felt like static against crawling along her skin as it radiated from the seat of power, a warning to any fool that would try to sit on it in place of the rightful King. The Sithen redecorated the Council Chamber for their meeting today, the King’s Usher, a changeling she would wager from the look of the young man’s skin, as he showed them in where they were greeted by the Alphas McCall-Hale. She approves of the Sithen’s choice of the understated Baroque, the round table that they are seated at, with only the more ornate throne-like chair indicating the higher authority of the King who will be sitting there.

All four sitting at the table turn to the opening door.

“I do apologise for being late,” King Tighearnach states as he rushes through the doorway into the room, everyone quickly rises to their feet, “I was with my new Máistir an Capall covering what his duties are…”

“You have a Master of the Horse?” Adrianne gasps, more in surprise that she interrupted the King than in the question she was asking him.

“Well, he’s more the Master of the Horsepower, as it’s the pack’s cars he will be maintaining,” King Tighearnach smiles and she doesn’t contain the chuckle of amusement at his jest. The King turns to the naked collared wolf standing at near the doorway, “Aiden, fetch us some refreshments from the kitchens, please.” She notices her son’s hand jerk as he stops himself from stroking his own neck and slight flush that creeps along his cheek. “So, shall we begin?” the King takes his seat at the table and raises his hand indicating the others take their own seats again, “And you can tell us why you are already looking for an alliance with our pack.”

Adrianne answers with a wane smile and slight nod of her head as she sighs, clasping her hands together on the table in front of her, she knew it would come to this.

“A little over a hundred years ago my family, my pack, were cursed,” she steadily keeps her eye contact with the King, struggling to keep her words calm and clear as she speaks, “The alpha power would only ever pass from mother to daughter, never to the son, and could never be taken out of the bloodline. The sons would always be submissive and servile in nature, whether wolf or human. Though I use the term human loosely. You see, long before we were cursed, our family…” she carefully chooses her words, “Intermingled with the Fae of the Unseelie Court, and whether human or werewolf there is some trace of Sidhe in us…”

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Derek interrupts her, “I thought there was no way for one of the Fae to become a werewolf?”

“Through the gift of the bite, no. The Fae would reject the bite and, unlike a human who rejected the bite, they would live. However, it became clear to us that a werewolf born of a half-Sidhe and a werewolf, could carry the Sidhe genes and access some of the inherent powers of the Sidhe along with the powers of being a werewolf.”

“What was the price she set of allowing your pack this?” the King’s words a like cold ice, clearly, he has worked out what her ancestors had done.

“She?” Alpha Scott asks, though a low rumble vibrates across the table from Alpha Derek.

“The Morrigan,” the King states, “What was her price for allowing your pack to successfully birth Fae werewolves?”

“Once every ten years she would come to take the ten strongest – five female and five male – to the Unseelie Court. They were never seen by the pack or their families again,” Adrianne’s voice cracks slightly as she answers before steeling herself to continue, “They thought it an acceptable price at the time. The pack was large and strong, and our territory was well protected from any threat; whether that was from hunters or other packs looking to take what was ours.”

“But,” the King’s voice his tinged with anger and sadness, “Over time, as she was taking the best of your pack, things changed.”

“Yes,” Adrianne sighs, “There had been wars, a lack of food, and the pack hadn’t been growing. There were threats along the border of our territory. So, the alpha chose not to fulfil the bargain. The Morrigan cursed them as Oath Breakers, cursed the family to our fate until the last of us died. Despite the curse, our pack regained its strength, our family grew. We adapted.”

“Until?”

The King’s question doesn’t surprise her.

“Five years ago,” the words catch in her throat, her gaze falling from the King’s eyes to the table for the first time since she began. She pauses to take a breath and looks back up to before continuing, “Five years ago we were a pack of nearly sixty, fae and fae-wolves. There are less than a dozen of us now. Myself, my fae-wolf son, and our nine betas.”

“Calvin is fae and werewolf?” Alpha Scott asks, as Aiden returns with refreshments.

“Yes, I am,” her son answers, though his eyes track the naked collared wolf’s movement around the table serving drinks.

“It started after Calvin’s brother’s marriage,” Adrianne states, “Alex is human, mostly,” she adds with a tilt of her head, “He met his wife while at college. She likes dominating him, and he likes being dominated. They had just left on their honeymoon, and we were set to return home. One of our pack mates that was with us was missing. We thought they were still in their room, but the hotel assured us that everyone had checked out. We checked anyway. The room was empty. We found them in the pool. Drowned.” She pauses, swallows down the emotion forcing their way through, and breathes out through her nose. “We thought it was an accident of some kind, somehow, it didn’t make sense, but neither did anything else we thought of. But, one by one our pack has been killed, and every one of them has drowned.”

“You came here for protection,” Alpha Derek surmises.

“I don’t know how much time I have bought my pack by moving us here, if I’ve even bought us any, but when I die, I know that the pack will be without an alpha. I want my pack to be safe. For that protection, on my death, I offer my pack to you.”

“Not everyone would be a fit with the pack,” she feels the weight hit the pit of her stomach at the king’s words. “However,” he adds, and the hope stirs in her, “Our packs can give mutual aid and protection. And, should the need arise, those of your pack who are inclined to join our pack will be allowed to do so.”

“Will I be allowed a collar like Aiden’s?” Calvin asks, his words husky, as he looks across at the king, he drags his tongue along his lips in nervous anticipation.

“Calvin,” she admonishes her son, he should know better than to be so impertinent.

“Aiden has that collar because he is my slave, and he asked for the collar,” the King answers with a fixed stare at Calvin, “Matt, one of Aiden’s mates, has a similar collar, because he is my Pet, my beast changeling, and he asked for the collar. My Garda an Rí, specifically the Captain of my Guard, my Fire Bane Dragon, has a collar, because it was demanded by Council of Thirteen. None of the rest of McCall-Hale Pack, despite my being their Master, have a collar.”

“Only because none of us have asked for one,” Alpha Derek smirks.

“If you become part of the McCall-Hale pack, then I will consider your request to be collared,” the King replies before he turns his gaze on Alpha Derek, “I think, given what we have heard happened to the Vincent Pack, you should go find Kayode and have him move the meeting scheduled for tomorrow to right now. Once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, three’s a pattern, and I don’t know what this many werewolves being overpowered and drowned is.”

Alpha Derek nods his head and rises from his seat to comply.

“And,” the King adds as the alpha wolf reaches the door, “Ask Alpha Boyd to join us too.”

  
  


When Xuan Lopez arrived at the Sithen with his second, they are led through an entrance hall, along a series of ornately decorated hallways and into an equally ornately decorated vestibule. The young man leading them comments, as he stops and seems to be trying to get his bearings on more than one occasion, that the Sithen is changing the layout and the position of the rooms.

Finally reaching their destination the Alpha is surprised to find that Alpha Boyd and Alpha Vincent are also present.

“Alpha Lopez,” the king stands to greet him, the other Alphas present quickly following the king and rising to their feet; something that only Alpha Derek and Scott McCall-Hale had done prior to the king standing.

“You Majesty,” he bows to the king, “Alphas McCall-Hale,” he nods to the alphas whose territory he is residing in, “I was not expecting such a large gathering.”

“I know,” the king frowns, “And our meeting was intended to private, as our meeting with Alpha Vincent had been. However, something she raised with us reminded me of what you said at the end of our last meeting.” Lopez catches the slight rise of Alpha Vincent’s elegantly sculpted eyebrow before she schools her features into the well-rehearsed impassive mask. Alpha Boyd gives nothing away at all. “So,” the king continues, “I thought it would be best to compare notes and as I think this will affect all of us, I wanted to get Alpha Boyd’s opinion of the situation.”

“Compare?” Alpha Lopez asks, lowering himself slowly into the chair indicated by the king.

“Yes, you said that your pack was around fifty strong, and, over the last few years you’ve been reduced to a pack with six betas driven from your territory. A similar tale to that Alpha Vincent told us. Do you mind telling us what happened to the rest of your pack?”

Lopez glances at Vincent, he can see the interest in her eyes, almost hidden in the neutral expression of her schooled features.

“They all drowned.”

“So, somehow, over the last… what is it… three years?” the king asks both alphas, at their nod of agreement he continues, “Somehow, over a three year period, around one hundred werewolves, from two different packs, have been overpowered and drowned. That’s two werewolves every three weeks. And in not one case was there any evidence of foul play?” 

“We suspected something, but there was nothing found at the scene of any of the deaths,” Alpha Vincent answers.

“Something unnatural took their lives,” Alpha Lopez nods in agreement.

“Who would want to wipe out your packs?” Alpha Scott prompts them.

“Hunters,” Alpha Boyd voices, speaking for the first time since Alpha Lopez arrived.

“But why by drowning?” Alpha Derek asks.

“What else causes fluid in the lungs?” the king ponders aloud, “And can have the cause of death listed as drowning instead of a pulmonary edema due to some other factor…?”

“Fae magic,” Alpha Boyd states. All eyes turn to the alpha until the king’s gaze falls on Alpha Lopez and he asks, “Have you had any trouble with either of the other Fae courts?”

“Until now, we have avoided interaction with the Fae courts,” Alpha Lopez carefully replies, “It seemed unwise to entangle ourselves in the political machinations of the Queen of Air and Darkness or the King of Storms and Light.”

“But,” the pack master presses, “Have you ever had any trouble with either of the courts?”

“Trouble? No.” There’s a questioning tone to the Alpha’s reply.

“You’ve had some interaction with one of the courts though, right?” Alpha Vincent more states than asks as she fixes the elder wolf with a penetrating and determined look.

“The former Queen of the Unseelie Court offered to gift my pack…”

“Fae magic in exchange for the ten best members of your pack returning with her to her court, every ten years,” Alpha Vincent finishes for him.

“We refused the offer,” Lopez’s second confirms.

“Which is why you said you had been driven from your territory by a ghost, because Auntie Dearest is dead,” the King surmises.

“Okay…” he combs his hair back through his fingers, briefly exposing the points of his ears, until the shaggy mop of curls falls back down to touch his shoulders, “So, it can’t be her magic, because my mom killed the Morrigan and became the Queen of the Unseelie Court. If it was The Morrigan’s magic, whatever was killing your pack members would have stopped. It must be someone, or team, that she had sent prior to her death that are still following her instructions.”

“Why was she so focused on werewolves?” Scott’s brow wrinkles as he bites at his bottom lip.

“Was she just focused on werewolf packs?” the king asks, drawing the attention of the alphas to him.

“No,” Alpha Boyd’s clear statement has the focus shift swiftly on to him.

“Care to elaborate?”

“When I was one of her Deaths,” Lopez tries to hold back the gasp at the revelation that he hears come from Alpha Vincent, it’s clear to him that the King and McCall-Hale pack already knew this about Alpha Boyd, “There were rumours of experiments with other supernatural species…”

“The Queen’s Deaths were her specialised assassins, weren’t they?” Alpha Lopez is almost surprised to hear his voice, he knew he was thinking the question, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask it.

“We were more than just her assassins,” there is a deep rumbling growl to Alpha Boyd’s reply, “We were her deaths’ because we had died, and she brought us back to life…”

“What?” Alpha Vincent roars, “She was Badb, the ‘Battle Crow’, she was Macha, Sovereign Goddess of War and she was Anann, the personification of Death…”

“Anann was also associated with fertility, cattle, war, and prosperity. She was responsible for culling out the weak and was known to ease the passing of those dying on the battlefield, where she would comfort them in the form of Death itself,” Boyd calmly states.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

“So,” Stiles wanted to draw the meeting to a close, everything he had heard was running around in his head and colliding with what Gabriel had been teaching him; his head a constant cacophony of Anand, Danand, Morrigan, Anann, Danu, Danann, the goddess mother of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Lebor Gabála Érenn, ‘confusion and conflation with three figures’. He needed time to think. After a brief pause, he continues, “I think we can agree we don’t yet know what or who is killing the pack members, but they are a threat to all of us, yes?” At the murmur of agreement that runs around the table he continues, “So, we can agree to an alliance of co-operation, support, and protection among our packs from this threat?” Another round of agreement at the table. “Good, then I think we all need to see what information we have and can bring to the next meeting in say… a month?”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

As the young changeling leads the Vincent, Lopez, and Boyd packs’ alphas and seconds back through the Sithen to the entrance, a shorter and more direct walk the werewolves notice, Alpha Lopez can’t help but think that King Tighearnach seems to have drawn some conclusion from the comments Alpha Boyd made. Something he would hopefully share before too long, in the spirit of their agreed co-operation.

  
  


“So,” Stiles sits on the edge of the desk in his study, he looks up and locks eyes with the Fae tutor standing by the wall near the entrance with his arms crossed over his chest and slight frown worrying his face, “Is it possible that the reason birth rates fell and magic started to fail in the Unseelie Court was due to The Morrigan forgetting Anann’s responsibility for fertility? If she was concentrating on death…”

“It may have been the start,” Gabriel responds, “But I don’t believe it would have been the only reason. Something more must have happened, birth rates and magic declined in both the Unseelie and Seelie Courts…”

“Okay,” Stiles slowly states as he now frowns, biting his bottom lip as he thinks, “So, do we know if she had any other Deaths? Could it be one of them that is killing off the Vincent and Lopez pack wolves?”

“We were the last of her Deaths,” Alpha Boyd says, “There were only those of us left that she sent to retrieve you. Though, after us she did make Peter Hale one of her Deaths.”

“Yeah, but these were happening before she sent you guys,” Stiles’ frown deepens.

“What about her Changelings?” Gabriel asks.

“They were all sent to aid Peter Hale,” Boyd casually replies.

“What?” Stiles exclaims, “Is there nobody else she could have sent? Someone unwaveringly loyal to her that would still be doing her biding after she died?”

“The Queens Guards would now be working for your mother,” Gabriel states

“But,” Boyd interrupts the fae, “The Crows, the inner circle of The Morrigan’s guards, would not. They were nothing more than a whisper at the court, no-one ever saw them. It is possible that they are on this side of The Hedge and carrying out her last command to them.”

“Okay, let’s see if my mom knows anything about them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, this was supposed to be the final chapter, but I still haven't gotten to my planned end point due to all the set up I started adding for the final story in the series. Sorry; again.
> 
> There will be one more chapter to this story.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work has not been beta'd, there has been no proofing and all mistakes are my own.  
  


Chapter-9

They are in The Throne Room. Stiles is seated on the throne. Drazin is standing immediately to his right, with his dad also on his right. Parrish is standing immediately to his left, with Gabriel also on his left. It’s taken several days for his mom to ‘be available’ to talk to him; making Stiles wonder just what is going on in the Unseelie Court.

The runes on frame of the mirror placed before them light up and he throws some magic at reflective surface to answer the call. His mom, the Queen of Life and Old Blood, is sitting alone. She’s not in the Unseelie Throne Room, she looks to be in her own private chambers, but she doesn’t look how Stiles saw her last. Her skin looks dull and tinged with grey, her hair is lifeless, her eyes sagging and there is a shade of purple under them. She looks… tired; like the weight of the world is weighing her down and every bone in her body aches.

Stiles purses his lips, inclining slightly towards the mirror before he can stop himself. “Mom are you okay?” are the first words out of Stiles’ mouth, his eyebrows drawing together.

“My little tiger, you don’t have to worry about me,” she feebly smiles at him, “Now, what is so important that you have been apparently be badgering my Comhairleoir for days?” Her words and smile do nothing to lessen his concern.

“Isabel…” his father starts.

“John,” there is an almost pleading tone as she voices his name, “Court politics can be tiring, especially when the old queen still had some supporters in the wings. It’s finished now.” It’s clear that she doesn’t want to talk about how _tiring_ it has been. It’s also clear that those supporters _met with Mortal Dread_.

“Would any of these supporters have been crows?” Stiles asks, “Though I suppose now they’d be crows no more, ceased to be, expired and gone to meet their maker! Bereft of life, pushing up the daisies! Shuffled off their mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! They’d be ex-crows!!”

“Seriously?” his dad frowns at him, “Now is not the time…”

“Well, it would have worked better if the old queen’s inner circle were called the Norwegian Blue Parrots, but they weren’t…” Stiles does not pout.

“They might as well have been,” his mother laughs, “As far as I can tell the infamous Crows are just as real.”

“What?!” Stiles leans forward on his throne, attention fully on his mom.

“The inner circle of the old queen’s guards, claimed to be her most trusted and deadly assassins, her Crows. Only, I have not found any evidence that they existed and were nothing more than an urban legend within the Court,” the Queen of the Unseelie explains, “They appear to have been a myth that her opponents used to scare themselves and each other. The remaining guards are now loyal to me.”

“Could it be that…” Stiles words the question carefully, “If they did exist, that she would have sent them to this side of the Hedge, and that would be why there is no evidence of them?”

“Why would she have sent them to your realm?”

“Well…” Stiles explains the strange case of the drowned werewolves, and the history of the old queen’s involvement with the targeted packs.

“I suppose there could be members of her guard working to some orders she gave before she died,” his mom concedes, “Some of them have told me how on occasion she would choose one or more of them for special missions and they would never be seen again.”

“And they could be her Crows,” Stiles postulates, “And they could be working on this side of the Hedge.”

“That’s a lot of ‘could be’ and no evidence to back it up,” his dad says, pouring cold water on his ember of hope of a lead.

“How can so much of her secrets still be hidden?!” Stiles words seethe with frustration, “I mean Éthur is still missing, held somewhere that she hid him. She threatens werewolf packs that stand against her and they are being killed off, and we can’t find out anything about what she was up to? Even though she is now dead, and her powers and magic gone with it? How is she still hiding so much of what she was up to?”

“Maybe it’s not her or her magic per-se,” Gabriel suggests, “But someone acting for her…?” he adds, the words sounding more like a question than a statement.

“There are many candidates to choose from,” Queen Iseabail scoffs as she leans back in her chair, “Though,” she ponders aloud, “to keep the Seelie Court Prince hidden from me, and be actively targeting the werewolves of two packs in the mortal realm, they must be powerful.”

“That must narrow down, surely,” Stiles words almost running together in expectation.

“Less than you might think,” his mom dryly replies, “I’ll let you know what I find out, an you let me know if you find out any more about the attacks on those packs.”

“Sure,” Stiles smiles, “Keep safe, mom.”

“You too, my little one,” the fondness of her smile lighting her eyes before the mirror darkens and returns to reflecting the room.

  
  


“These are the twenty-four you’ve picked?” Stiles is sitting in his study with Jordan, looking over the folders that the Captain of his Guard gave him a few days ago on the demi-fae that wanted to be part of the King’s Guard, “I thought you said there were only around twenty?”

“More turned up, some after their friends mentioned to them what they were looking to become part of. Ridirí Rúnda an Rí.”

“Secret Knights?” 

“The King’s Secret Knights, they seem to have coined the term among themselves, even though they are both Forest Sprites and Blood Sprites. They may have been Seelie and Unseelie Court before, now they see themselves as being of one court; yours.”

“And they realise that as spies, that is something they should not be telling anyone else about?”

“They tell me that only the twenty-four of them waiting in the Throne Room Antechamber know…”

“In the Throne Room?”

“The antechamber, Master. Forgive me, I thought that it would be more prudent for you to have final selection from them, as you can tell more easily than I who is telling the truth.”

Stiles folds his arms over his chest, shaking his head slightly at his dragon and exhales through his nose before asking, “And just how many of them do you actually want in your Ridirí Rúnda?”

“As many as will be loyal to you,” Parrish shrugs.

Stiles is sitting on the throne, his Fae Mien – except for his wings that are still under his skin – visible, as Parrish pulls open the door leading to the antechamber. There’s a flutter of noise, the buzz of chatter and wings beating too fast for the eye to register as the two-dozen small fae zip into the room. Some rushing to the canopy of the trees, others circling the stone seating. Watching them, Stiles estimates that none are more than six inches in height. With the speed at which they dart around the room, he can concede that possibly you’d mistake them for a bird or winged insect; particularly if they were using their glamour to hide in plain sight. The roses shake themselves, their leaves becoming a cacophony of displeasure at the demi-fae ignoring their king seated before them.

The winged sprites quickly line up in four rows of six before him.

“We meant no disrespect Your Majesty,” one of the sprites says, bowing deeply as he hovers in mid-air, “It’s just,” his eyes dart around the room, his face open and eyes sparkling, “The room… your Throne Room… it’s so like the Wyld Wood back on the other side of the Hedge.” As he is talking Stiles takes in the tanned complexion and the vibrant green hair falling to his shoulders. He also notices that the butterfly-like forewings and hindwings on their back, shimmer green and gold as they move and reflect the light.

“Would that be in the Forest Court?” Stiles asks, “Which is part of the Seelie Court of my Great-Uncle, King Tuireann, the King of Storms and Light.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And you would be?” Stiles prompts him.

“Táwar Thalion, Your Majesty,” the forest sprite responds.

“The Wyld Wood also exists in the Unseelie Court, Your Majesty. Under the Twilight Court,” another of the sprites comments. Stiles is sure he must be one of the blood sprites. In contrast to the other sprite, this one is pale with short, dark, spikey hair. His forewings are like those of a hummingbird, and shimmer blues and blacks as they move, his hindwings are more like those of a dragonfly.

“There’s also part of it in the Dawn Court,” Táwar adds.

“The Wyld Wood seems to spread far and wide in Arcadia,” Stiles smiles, “I’m glad my Sithen chose to make my Throne Room look so much like it.” Turning his attention back to the blood sprite, “I take it you are formerly of the Twilight Court?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the sprite bows, “Seregon Naqar, at your service, Your Majesty.” 

“And you all,” Stiles addresses the crowd of flitting sprites dancing around the tree-tops, “Wish to formally join my Court, not just reside in Beacon Hills, and swear your loyalty to me, serving as my Ridirí Rúnda under my Dragon?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” is chorused, with the lone voice of Seregon enquiring, “Is it true that you can give us back the power to switch between our big and little selves?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles answers, a murmur of disappointment running through the sprites as they buzz around, “I don’t know why you lost the ability, so, I am not sure if there is anything I can do to restore it. However, if you give your Oath of Loyalty to me, I will do everything I can to make it so. And I am sure that if the Goddess wills it, it will be so.”

“I hereby declare, on Oath,” twenty-four tiny voices ring out in the room, “That I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any other Faerie Court, King or Queen, of whom or which I have been a subject or citizen. That I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the Sovereign Supernatural Nation of Beacon Hills, and that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same and to Tighearnach, King of Blood and Truth, the Six-handed Master, of the Beacon Hills Court. This Oath I swear freely, without reservation or purpose of evasion, in the name of Goddess and the Consort.” 

The scent of roses fills the air, and red petals fall from above them, as the sprites complete the Oath and Stiles’ wings erupt from his back, spreading out to their full span and lifting him into the air. The tingle of static prickles along his skin and arcs out, jumping through each and every sprite dancing amongst the perfume and falling petals of the roses. As it moves to each they suddenly grow and expand, bursting out of their small clothing until the room has twenty-four naked sprites, of all sexes and genders, varying in size between five-feet and five-feet-six-inches tall flying around their king.

  
  


Planning for their pack omegas going into heat has become like planning for a military campaign, with there now being seventeen toddlers that want to see their oma and daddy. When their oma is in heat, that just is not possible. And their daddy and the other omas will need to be in and out of the heat rooms on and off during the seventy-two hours of the omegas heat. And when it’s Jackson and Ethan, who both go into heat in the same months thanks to the Sithen previously speeding Ethan’s pregnancy and changing his heat cycle in the process, things get even more complicated.

Which is why in early March Stiles finds himself tired and just a little bit grungy, from the night of sex spent fucking Jackson and Ethan whose heats started twelve hours previously, kneeling in the nursery trying to reason with a crying three-year-old.

“But what’s wrong with oma-Scott’s milk?” he asks.

“I want oma’s milk,” Anakoni wails, “Mikal always gets his omas milk.”

“But Koni,” Stiles tries to explain to be drowned out by the volume of the toddler’s cries increasing. He had thought with Koni being human he’d have been less troubled by whose milk he drank than the werewolves. He rubs at Danny’s son’s back, trying to calm the child, “Koni, your oma can’t feed you just now…” he turns to Scott, who is as bleary eyed as Stiles is himself, and asks, “Did Jackson express any that’s in the fridge?”

“Kwame, Heather, and I tried to give him some of that, but he insisted he wanted it from his oma,” Scott explains, Michael currently latched firmly onto one of his breasts, suckling happily away, which makes Koni stamp his foot and wail louder. “Sorry,” Scott mouths as he turns so that Michael feeding is not in Koni’s line of sight.

Finally, Danny walks into the room. Koni pulls out of Stiles’ arms and runs to his father.

“Daddy, Uncle Stiles says I can’t have oma’s milk, I wan oma’s milk like Mikal gets.”

“Anakoni Whittemore-Mahealani,” Danny invokes his son’s full name, “I know that is not what your King said. Oma can’t give you any just now, but oma-Scott tried to give you some of your oma’s milk from the bottle that he made sure was there for you. Now why are you not drinking your oma’s milk?”

“I wan it like Mikal gets it,” he huffs, his wailing and cries subsided in the stern face of his father.

“But you know your oma can’t just now. That is why he put it in the bottle for you,” Danny states, “So, are you going to drink your milk and make your oma happy?”

Koni nods but is still frowning.

“Good boy,” Danny smiles, lifting his son and getting the bottle that the nannies had warmed up previously.

  
  


Simisola Brooks steps off the bus having finally arrived in Beacon Hills. Looking around the square she lets out a sigh. She isn’t sure what she was expecting. For the first supernatural sovereign state, everything just looks like any other normal small city in America. 

“Here, mama, I got our bags,” her son smiles, looking around them in excitement. “The hotel is just across the square,” he adds, barely audible over the roar of the bus driving off, as he lifts the two heavy suitcases and strides towards the crossing.

“Slow down Jacob,” she calls after him, “I’m ain’t as spritely as I used to be.” 

“Ma, you ain’t even fifty yet,” her youngest son turns and grins back at her as he waits for her to catch up. His older brother and sister are back in New York, living their busy lives and pursing their careers.

“Only for a few more months,” she reminds him, “Now, lets get checked in at this hotel and get freshened up before this meeting.”

“You think that it is Uncle Kayode?” Jacob asks, the playful tone gone from his voice and a crease folding across his brow as he bites at his lower lip.

“I sure hope so.” She is trying to keep her expectations low, after all these years and all the false leads she’s followed, she prays that the man she talked to on the phone really is her brother.

Jacob is sitting in the chair next to his mom. He can feel the anxiety, the hope, and sadness rolling off her. They checked in and cleaned up in their rooms. Neither of them much in the mood for food, they came down to wait in the lounge where they are to meet the man claiming to be his long-lost uncle. He takes his mom’s hand in his as they sit listening to the tick-tick-tick of the clock as it grows closer to the time he is supposed to arrive for their meeting.

“Simi?” a young man calls as he approaches. Far too young to be his mom’s older brother.

“Ayo?” his mom stands, a smile breaking across her face and her scent filling with confusion, “How? Oh Ayo, how are you still…?” She runs the few steps towards him and wraps her arms around him.

“There’s a lot I need to explain to you, Sis,” he says smiling as he embraces her. They hold each other tightly before slowly separating to take their seats.

“You look exactly like you did thirty years ago,” she comments with awe in her voice. As his maybe-uncle’s gaze falls on him his mom adds, “Oh, this is Jacob, my youngest.” He holds out his hand to shake, and Jacob accepts it with a courteous nod.

“I don’t look exactly like I did,” he says, turning his attention form Jacob, “I was a lot thinner and not doing so good back then.”

They sit and listen as Ayo explains how he was sick and dying, and his lover Arthur turned out to be Fae and took him to the Seelie Court, made him a changeling to save his life. That is where he had been and why he looks barely, if any, older than he did. Jacob, steadying his breathing and listening intently, knows he’s telling the truth.

“I worried about you,” Simi says, “I thought you’d been kidnapped and sold off to some rich middle eastern prince or something as his slave…” at Ayo’s shocked expression she adds, “Well it’s not like I didn’t overhear mom and dad arguing about you when they were blaming each other for you being gay and being into BDSM, not that they said BDSM. They said… well they said a lot that I ain’t gonna repeat.”

“What Éthur and I had was safe, sane, and consensual,” Ayo assures her.

“Had?” Jacob find himself asking, drawing their attention back to him.

“He’s missing, presumed dead,” Ayo sighs, “It’s why I left the Seelie Court and came here.”

“That’s not true!” Jacob exclaims, his gaze flitting between his mom and the uncle he doesn’t know lying to her. He won’t allow anyone to fool her.

“Jacob?!” his mom hisses at him.

“Well, it’s not,” he insists, “I know he’s lying when he says that’s why he came here.”

“It’s not why I came here,” Kayode amends, “But, it is related to it. Now, I want to hear about you,” he smiles at his sister, “And how you ended up with a werewolf son.”

“What?! How… how did you know?” Jacob screeches, unable to keep the shock from his face.

“I’m the King’s Usher, his personal secretary. I work live in the Sithen with him and his werewolves. I work with them and the fae, and werecats, and others that work and live there. I notice when werewolves are picking up on the scents coming from someone or are listening to their heartbeat to know if they are telling the truth. So, Simi, wanna tell me what you’ve been up to while I was on the other side of The Hedge?”

“Where to start,” she laughs nervously, “After our cousin outed you to our parents it took me a couple of years to track you down. Only, I was too late. I guess I must have found where you were living just after Arthur, or Éthur?” she questions the pronunciation of the fae’s name, at Ayo’s nod she continues, “After Éthur had taken you to the Seelie Court. Of course, I didn’t know that, and spent the next two years harassing the police over their inaction in trying to find my brother and chasing every lead that I found trying to find you myself. During those years I spent a lot of time with a young handsome African American NYPD police officer, Samuel Carter. He’s now my ex-husband and the father of my two older children; my eldest, my daughter Dayo, and my older son Olamilekan. Dayo was born in eighty-seven, about nine months after our wedding, Lekan two years later…”

“Your husband isn’t Jacob’s father?” 

“I’m getting there,” she tells her brother, “Now let me finish my story. Sam is more… let’s just say he took some convincing to let me name the kids with Western African names like our parents named us. But he knew it was important to me. I’d gotten involved with PUSH and the National Rainbow Coalition; both of which I became aware of through their connection with the Rev. Jesse Jackson, and both of which were seeking equal rights for African Americans, women, and gays. I was also attending Gay Pride events and involved with ACT-UP and Queer Nation. The more I got involved with politics, the more Sam and I fought. He didn’t disagree with the politics; he just wanted a wife that was at home more. We separated in ninety-four and were divorced a year later. We had joint custody of the kids…”

“Now we’re getting to the part where I come into the picture,” Jacob smirks.

“Hush you,” his mom joshes him, then turns back to Kayode, “Like I said, I was involved in politics,” Jacob snorts at this and Simi lightly slaps his knee, “Hush I said, and in August ninety-six I was in Chicago at the convention, and there I met…”

“A very handsome young African American man, my father,” Jacob mockingly recites the phrase he’s clearly heard several times before. Simi scowls at him, but the smile on her lips betrays the fact there is no heat or anger his jest.

“As I was saying,” she sternly states with a smirk, “There I met a very cocky, handsome man. His hair was short, tightly cropped, his eyes a dark soulful brown, and remember thinking his smile was wolf-ish. Didn’t that turn out to be prophetic. He was Jacob Collins, a civil rights lawyer in Chicago. I worked part-time in the offices of Rainbow PUSH Coalition in New York. We both thought it was gonna be a one-time fling. We used protection. I was very much an advocate for practicing safer-sex. A few weeks later, back home, I found out I was pregnant. The only person who could be the father is in Chicago.”

“Did you tell him?” Ayo asks.

“Of course,” Simi barks at him, “He had a right to know. He was shocked when I called him and told him. Told me I couldn’t keep the baby. Not that he sounded happy about it, he sounded downright upset about it. I told him, there is no way I am getting rid of the life growing inside me. Now, I know everyone’s circumstances are different, and some people have no choice but to have an abortion, and that’s their right. For me, that was not an option. I could support myself and my children and unborn child. And I would. He said I didn’t know all the facts, that there were circumstances that meant it was dangerous for me to carry his child. Now, this is ninety-six, you can imagine what I think he’s talking about. I call him out on that because he had said he was tested and was negative…”

“Hm, I remember waiting on those results,” Ayo reflects, his eyes staring downward as he studies his fingernails.

“Sorry,” she grabs his hand, squeezing tightly, “I wish I could have been there for you.”

“I wish I had been there for you too,” he lifts his head and smiles at her.

“Three days later,” she continues, “He’s at my door. Thankfully, the kids are still at their fathers. I let him in to explain. He keeps trying to say he has this medical condition that is a threat to me and the unborn baby. That it would be better for me to have the pregnancy terminated. I keep telling him, we will test for the condition, check with the doctors on how much of a threat it is to the baby and me. We go round in circles and he’s whining and clearly stressed out about this. Stressed enough that he loses control for a second and I see his eyes flash blue. None of the explanations he tries to give hold water and he finally has no option but to tell me the truth. Well, I don’t believe him until he shifts.”

“Had his alpha given him permission to tell you?”

“He didn’t have an alpha. he was an omega. The alpha of the pack in Chicago where he lived allowed him to stay their territory. That was part of the reason it took him three days to fly to New York. He had to ask the alpha in Chicago to contact the alpha in New York to get their permission for him to come to New York to see me. To shorten this long story, he eventually decides that he is gonna move to New York and help me raise his baby. I’m six months’ pregnant when he finally has a job and an apartment to move to, and permission from the Alpha Chelsea of the local Campbell Pack to live in, New York. The day after he’s moved, he’s coming round to have dinner with the kids and me. The kids are excited to see him again, they’ve only met him a couple of times at this point. He never shows up.”

“What happened?” Ayo asks, noticing how Jacob has taken his mother’s hand, a feeling of dread settles in his stomach.

“I try calling his phone. I call again and again and again,” her eyes are damp at the memory, “I see the police car pull up outside the house. Sam and another officer are walking up the path. He’d been called to a shooting. It looked like a burglary. He was really sorry to have t… to have to tell me… that… Jacob was found dead at the scene.”

Ayo’s hand grasps his sister’s other hand, the one her son isn’t holding.

“I’m so sorry Simi.”

“It was supposed to be a brief encounter, but it had started to feel like something so much more,” she smiles through the tears in her eyes. Taking her hands out of theirs, she reaches into her handbag and pulls out a handkerchief to dry her eyes and blow her nose. “The local alpha came round afterwards. The kids were in bed at this point. She told me how a few werewolf households had been attacked. That hunters had targeted the pack, and Jacob. She said, if I was still looking to raise the kid myself that the pack would help, in whatever way they could. I told her, of course I was going to raise my child.”

“Twelve weeks later, and two weeks early, I was born,” Jacob smiles.

“Yes, screaming and yelling flashing your eyes blue at the doctors from the moment you drew first breath,” Simi smiles back, “The pack had arranged for the birth to be at a clinic where the staff knew about werewolves,” Simi explains, “Luckily they were one phone call away.”

“It’s a beta werewolf boy!” he laughs with his mom.

“Trying to make sure that my nine year old daughter and seven year old son knew not to tell anyone, including their father, about Jacob flashing his eyes blue, or his claws popping out, or anything else to do with him being a werewolf, that was not easy. But Dayo got it. She asked is that why his daddy isn’t here, could he flash his eyes too, is that why someone shot him.”

“They were both very protective of me,” Jacob solemnly says, “When I finally started attending high-school, when I had better control of my wolf, after being home schooled for previous fifteen years, they were not happy. They had already graduated and were at college, so there was no one to look out for me as they put it. Even now they are always checking up on me.”

“They both work in law, and work on civil rights,” Simi says, “Now they are concentrating on supernatural civil rights cases.”

“Especially werewolf ones,” Jacob smirks, “Working with the packs in New York, including the local one that helped me, but I never actually joined. I was sort of pack, but not pack, if you know what I mean.”

“You’d have been safer and stronger if you joined a pack,” Simi scolds him.

“But I never felt I belonged in the pack. And Alpha Chelsea got that, she said that you need to feel the connection.”

“Drazin mentioned that Derek had said there was a werewolf visiting from New York, I never made the connection,” Ayo suddenly realises, “He must have been referring to you. I guess with Jackson and Ethan going into heat he was too busy to tell me about it, and you won’t have met with the Derek or Scott because of two of the pack omega’s being in heat. So, he may not have made the connection anyway.”

“She said that she had contacted the McCall-Hale pack to allow me to come,” Jacob says, “Derek and Scott are the alphas, right? I would have liked to meet the pack, it would have been good to get some inside knowledge on where is safe to spend tomorrow night.”

“Yes,” Ayo confirms, “Alpha Derek Hale and Alpha-Omega Scott McCall. Isaac is their other mate. With the full moon the McCall-Hale pack spend it in the preserve, but that is only for their pack. There are designated safe spaces for other packs and non-pack wolves throughout the city. I can send you details.”

“Thanks, that would be useful,” Jacob smiles, before querying, “Their other mate? I thought werewolves only had one mate. If they ever met them.”

“Most of the pack as I understand it are a Trio, there are some Duos. Jackson is one of the mates of King Tighearnach. We would have been meeting at the Sithen except with the heat situation, non-pack members are not allowed in. How about we get some lunch and I show you around town?”

“That sounds great, I am starved,” Simi answers.

  
  


Jacob drums his fingers on the table as he chews on the mouthful of bacon, sausage, and egg in his mouth. Turning his head and looking out the window as he scans the people scurrying past each other on the sidewalk.

“I thought two days after the full moon you’d be calmer,” his mom chuckles from the other side of the table as she eats her own breakfast, “Especially given how much you slept yesterday after your night out.”

“I am calm,” he retorts, turning to face her, his fingers stilling as they tightly grip the knife and fork, “And I was more tired than I normally am after the full moon. There were so many other smells and scents in the park,” there’s a sense of wonder and excitement in his voice, “More than just werewolves. Plus, I walked all the way down there and back.”

“All the way where?”

“To Greenvale Park,” he grins, “It’s across the river, and the closest space to the preserve that anyone else can use.”

“Well, don’t worry none,” she grins, “Your Uncle Ayo will be here soon enough to take us inside that preserve to meet with the McCall-Hale Pack and see inside the Sithen where he works. Then you’ll get to find out if the Alpha Derek Hale is the same boy you have had a crush on since…”

“Mama,” he screeches, his cheeks heating up and finding he can’t meet her eyes, “I don’t have a crush on him. Even if I did, Uncle Ayo told us that Alpha Derek Hale has two mates,” he tries not to sound disappointed. “Besides,” he continues, “I want to ask in person if I can come and study at the Beacon Hills Community College…”

“You do?” the surprise clear in her voice.

“Yeah, I figure the courses covering supernatural sociology and civil rights would be more in-depth than at any other college. And the criminal and constitution law courses cover both the United States and Beacon Hills, pointing out the similarities and the differences. That’s bound to be useful.”

“Still intent on following your siblings into fighting for justice,” Simi chuckles.

“And, from what you’ve said, the dad I never knew.”

“Yeah, him too.” The smile on her lips doesn’t hide the sadness in her eyes. He can smell the bittersweet notes in her scent as she reminisces about the man she briefly knew, and clearly cared for deeply. He reaches out across the table taking her hand to offer comfort as he smiles back.

“Hopefully, I can make both of you proud of me,” he states.

“I’m always proud of you,” her smile widens, “Even when you were a mischievous devil of a child trying to prank your sister and brother.” Jacob laughs at the memories.

“They played far more pranks on me than I ever got over them,” he chuckles.

“Now, we better finish eating before Ayo gets here,” she squeezes his hand before letting go and picking up her fork, lifts another mouthful of food between her lips.

Two hours later, Jacob is sitting in the back of the car that Ayo is driving through the preserve towards the Sithen. He has the window open and is staring out wide-eyed and grinning as he takes in the sights, sounds, and smells as they drive along the winding road. His mom sitting in the front passenger seat.

“Jay,” she smirks as she turns and looks at him, “You look like an over-excited puppy with your head sticking out that window.”

“Mama!” he exclaims, frowning with his grin still in place. Too enthralled with their surroundings to care.

“This is the public entrance,” Ayo tells them as he leads them into a large, ornately decorated room, “Up that way leads to the offices of the King’s Guard, the Lord Steward, the Lord High Constable, the Lord High Treasurer, and the Lord Chamberlain.”

“Do you have an office up there?” Simi asks.

“I sometimes use one of the offices, across from the Lord Chamberlain, but I mostly work in the King’s Study or wherever the King is working, or if I’m working with the Lord Steward, the, the Lord High Treasurer, or the Lord Chamberlain, I’ll probably be in their office.” Looking to ignore the pride in her eyes, Ayo quickly changes the subject, “Through here is the vestibule,” he leads them into an even more ornately decorated room, “Which leads into,” he throws open a large double door, “The Grand Salon.”

Jacob can see how impressed his mom is, the rooms are large, and the décor lavish.

“Through this door we can cut along the corridor to the antechamber,” his uncle is saying.

“Antechamber?” his mom asks.

“Yes,” Ayo looks back at them as he leads them into another more elaborately decorated room, “To this,” he leads them to another large and highly ornate double door, “The throne room.”

Walking into the throne room, Jacob is impressed. It’s like being in a wooded copse at night, with the moon full and bright above them.

“Not sure why it’s giving a night scene,” his uncle comments. Jacob doesn’t care why.

“It’s… so peaceful,” he says, looking around the room – even though it feels like he is outside – he takes in the scent of living trees, the breeze in the air filled with the undertones of grass, earth, and wild flowers. He feels safe, calm, and settled here.

“Is that the throne?” he hears is mom asking.

“Yeah,” his uncle confirms.

Jacob turns and looks at the slab of granite sitting on across three roots of the large ash trees behind it. He feels the power emanating from the stone.

“Jacob!” he turns to his mom’s voice, “Control yourself, your eyes have turned blue, and you’re beginning to shift.”

“Sorry,” he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly, he curls his hands into fists as he regains control of himself. He’d been totally unaware that his eyes were flashing blue and he had started to shift in response to the pull of the power he could feel.

“Maybe we should move on,” Ayo suggests, “We need to get to the dining room before lunch, and there’s a couple more rooms I can show you… hopefully,” his brow crinkles as he walks to the wall and places his hand against it. The roses in the room swarm around, “No, you know you don’t like my blood, so, just open up.” The doorway appears and he turns to see the confused expressions that Simi and Jacob have, “It’s the roses, they like to take a drop of blood for… reasons, but the kind of Changeling that I am, they don’t like my blood.” He ducks his head into the room to check that it is empty.

“So, this,” he turns back to his sister and nephew, his smile the widest and most dazzling that Simi or Jacob have seen, “Is the King’s Study, where I mostly work ,with the King… obviously,” he ducks his head with a nervous laugh.

“Are we allowed in here?” Jacob asks.

“We don’t want you getting in trouble,” Simi adds.

“We’re just passing through it will be okay.” The décor matches that of the throne room, but the walls are lined with bookcases filled with books, Jacob doesn’t get a chance to look at any of the titles of the tomes; though he’s sure he caught a glimpse of the cover of Batman Eternal Volume 1 sitting on one of the desks. The room has two large desks in the centre, with computer monitors showing logon screens. “Through here,” Ayo continues, distracting Jacob further from the possible comic book, walking to the far wall and performing the same trick of touching it, the roses don’t swarm around his hand this time, “Is the Council Chamber. It’s where the King meets with all the advisors to get updates and go through the business of the state.”

“Like Camelot,” Jacob quips when he notices the round table.

“Yeah,” Ayo smiles over his shoulder as he leads his sister and nephew past the table, “This door,” he indicates the one ahead of them, “Takes us out into the corridors containing the offices.”

“So, now we’re about to enter the semi-private chambers of the Sithen,” Ayo explains as he leads them along the corridor of offices.

“Semi-private?” Jacob scrunches his nose and frowns.

“There are three distinct areas of the Sithen,” Ayo begins, “This part is the public area, where the household deal with the non-pack public. The semi-private is where the extended pack and pack adjacent members of the household live and work. The private area is living area only for the King, the… I suppose inner pack,” his voice rising questioningly at his own words, “Their kids, and the nannies that help look after the kids, and myself. Though, technically, the King’s Study is private, but he does use when meeting with the extended pack…”

“You live in the private residence part with the King?” Simi asks, as Jacob queries, “Extended pack? Pack adjacent?”

“Yes, as his Usher an Rí that deals with matters external to the pack, I need to be close by to help with any issues that need dealing with. Aiden deals with internal pack matters,” he answers Simi first. “The extended pack are the King’s father, Alpha-Omega McCall’s mother, Mr Argent, Allison Argent, and Lydia Martin. Pack adjacent are the nannies, me, the King’s advisors, the pack’s tutors, and other household staff, the members of the Boyd Pack, and Alan Deaton the former Hale Pack emissary and emissary to the Boyd Pack.”

Jacob notices the change of scent as they pass through from the public to semi-private, the scent of werewolf is stronger, and both familiar and strange. Also, the décor in this section of the Sithen is more pleasing to him, less ornate. He follows his mom who is being led by his uncle through the corridors. Ahead of them the sound of children running and playing is getting louder.

“Stop chasing your brothers, sisters, and cousins around the dining tables,” the unmistakable roar of an alpha is heard, followed by a stillness as the kids have clearly stopped playing.

“Scott, they are only playing,” someone says. Jacob is not used to anyone questioning an alpha.

“I know Derek, but there are plates, glasses and sharp knives out. I don’t want them hurting themselves. You can play at the other end of the room, where there is open space to run around. And there also aren’t any doors that hot food will be being brought through to the tables.”

“Point taken. Kids, play at the other end of the room until you’re called to come and eat.” The clamber of little feet across the floor can be heard

Jacob notices that his Uncle Ayo has waited until the incident is over before pushing open the door.

“Alphas McCall-Hale, may I present my sister Simisola Brooks and her son, Jacob Brooks,” Ayo introduces them. Red, silver, blue and golden eyes flash in their direction, and Jacob’s beta blue eyes flash back.

“Alpha Campbell suggested I might recognise you,” the tall bearded alpha says, Jacob assumes Derek Hale.

“Yes, Sir, Alpha Hale,” Jacob smiles, walking towards the man with his hand outstretched, “We met when you lived in New York, I was, am, kind of pack adjacent,” he uses the term his uncle used earlier to describe those not part but involved with the pack, “To the Campbell Pack.”

“Yes!” Derek smiles in recognition, “I remember you.”

“Alpha Chelsea often told me how he followed you around like a lost puppy when you were in New York and meeting with the pack,” his mom informs everyone.

“Mama?!” he cringes at the chuckles running through the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice from a man striding through the doors at the other side of the room Ayo led them through. The man is followed by a naked collared man and older collared man who’s clothed. Jacob’s mouth and throat dry and he involuntary licks his lips. “Ayo,” the first man continues, “I’ve just sent a revised draft of the letter to your inbox, can you check it this evening and arrange for it to go out early tomorrow at the latest.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ayo bows, “Can I present my sister and nephew to you?” The King, Jacob now realises, turns his attention to them as Ayo introduces them. Only this time when his uncle says his name Jacob corrects him, “Jacob Collins-Brooks, Your Majesty.”

“As my other children have their father’s name, I thought it only fitting that Jacob had the name of the father he would never meet,” his mom says.

“Family is important,” the King says.

“Whether it’s the one we are born into or the one we make,” Alpha Hale adds.

“Now, food,” King Tighearnach exclaims, “Aiden, Danny, Liam, Derek, Gabriel, Kwame, Juan, Daniel, Jordan P, why don’t you help get the buffet set up, and Scott and Jackson can get our guests some drinks.”

His mom is sitting beside her uncle and the King and his two werewolf mates. Danny, and Jackson. The children are running around hyper from the food and the excitement of new people in the Sithen.

“So, what are your plans?” Alpha Hale asks him. Jacob reminds himself that both alphas had already told him to call them by their first names, and takes the opportunity.

“I want to move to Beacon Hills and study at the college here,” he says.

“You don’t want to stay close to your mom?” Scott asks, “Join the Campbell Pack?”

“I’d rather join your pack,” he blurts out. Both alphas seem shocked by his statement.

“You realise,” Derek carefully says, “That we have a Pack Master.”

“I’d heard that commented around the city, that the King is your pack’s master, and I think I take more after my uncle in certain respects.”

“We can discuss it with the Pack and our Pack Master,” Scott says, smiling at him. He really hopes they agree.

  
  


“We are still compiling the census results,” Neasa informs the meeting of Stiles’ advisors, “But, early indications are that more than half of Beacon Hills citizens are human…”

“More than half meaning fifty-one percent or more than half meaning ninety-nine percent?” Stiles asks.

“Meaning somewhere between fifty-five percent and sixty-five percent,” Neasa confirms, “Based on the preliminary numbers and that the non-humans are looking to be around thirty-five to forty-five percent. With werewolves looking to be twenty to thirty percent of the population, and more than half of those do not belong to a pack.”

“And the Fae are the next largest grouping, over five percent. Then werecats are less than that,” Drazin adds.

“Which then gives us the few other Therianthropes, **and very few**,” Neasa stresses, “Nephalim, Demons, and Vampires.”

“Nephalim, Demons, and Vampires?” Stiles squeaks.

“Oh my,” his dad quips, at Stiles’ scowl adding, “Sorry.”

“We are talking single digit numbers, not even a tenth of a percentage point,” Neasa stresses.

“Okay, so…” Stiles begins.

“We are going to need to verify that they are actually…” Neasa starts to say.

“Vampires, demons, and angelic offspring,” Stiles finishes, “And,” he pauses to make sure she is paying attention, “The vampires, I did notice it was plural, need to abide by the law, no drinking from someone without their consent, no turning anyone without their consent, and draining anyone to the point of death even if they have consent.”

“Okay, so, what’s the feedback on the first elections using the proportional voting system?” Stiles asks.

“It’s been overwhelmingly popular, with a few exceptions,” Neasa reports, “Every District had at least three candidates standing and no problems or misunderstanding of how the system works has been reported.”

“Right, so how did the population changes affect the voting for the District Supervisors?” Stiles follows up his first question, “And I think we need to change the name, they aren’t supervising anything, they are supposed to be representing the opinions and needs of their districts.”

“So,” Drazin begins, “Unchanged the Board of Representatives is. Except for District-5. Re-elected Valerie Brown was not.”

“Really,” Stiles’ smiles spreads across his face until he is beaming.

“Really,” Neasa states, “I think the reason most of the others saw no change was due to there being no challenger to the incumbent that was known in their area. It would have been the same for Representative Brown, except, she was very anti-supernatural and anti-sovereign nation. District-5 is West Hills (South), which has seen the largest influx of supernaturals. In fact, the districts where the majority of the supernatural population are all in the south of the city; District-3 East Hills (South), Distict-4 Southside, District-8 Warehouse District, and as I said, District-5 West Hills (South).”

“So, what about Northside, East Hills (North), West Hills (North), Downtown, and Midtown?” Stiles asks.

“There are some supernatural citizens, but those are the more affluent areas of the city and the majority of the supernatural influx cannot afford those areas,” Neasa states, “And they were being priced out of the other districts too. House prices in West Hills (South) and East Hills (South) have seen massive rises since the announcement of the declaration of independence. It only slowed when it was announced that you were capping rents to pre-announcement levels.”

“I thought the property prices were rising throughout the city?”

“They are,” Neasa confirms, “But District-5 and District-3 have the largest rises, even after it became known that all property was leasehold as the land belongs to the McCall-Hale Pack and therefore to the Court of Beacon Hills. The most expensive districts are West Hills (North) and East Hills (North), followed by Northside and now West Hills (South); due to its proximity to the preserve and therefore to the Sidhe Court of Beacon Hills.”

“Okay, so,” Stiles turns to Ayo, “The first meeting of the Assembly is…?”

“This coming Wednesday, Sire,” the changeling confirms, “To allow for the public and press galleries, the chambers within the City Hall have been converted to the layout we have here in the Council Chamber. The round table with nine places for the elected representatives, the seats for the three appointed advisors that sit in the Assembly, and the throne for yourself.”

“Right, so, dad, how is running the Department of Public Protection?”

“When I was appointed The Lord High Constable, I wasn’t expecting to also be in charge of the probation services, the district attorney, the public defender, the medical examiner, and the fire department. The police department, sure, the rest was shock,” John Stilinski gripes at his son, “However, six people that report to me are running those functions well enough. I left the previously elected district attorney and public defender in office, even though they are now appointed positions. I’m sure they are going to want to do a good enough job to hold on to them.”

“Neasa, Fiscal and Administration Department?”

“Thankfully, I only have the four people that report to me directly, but I am in charge of all the money,” she smiles, “The city has been running a deficit budget for the last six years. With the personal and corporate tax increases we’re implementing, and the increase in citizens, we should off-set the public expenditure increases and break-even.”

“And Drazin, every other department reports to you.”

“Only five people report to me, yes.”

“The Environment Commission, Public Utilities, Citizens’ Services and Health, Community Services, and General Services Agency,” Neasa confirms. “But, those do cover Agriculture and Farming, Planning and Building, Water Services, Electrics, Technology, Academy of Science, Transport, Child Support Services, Department of Health, Education, Social Services, Ethics and Citizens Rights, Parks and Recreation,, and Library Services.”

“And whatever General Services Agency covers,” Stiles adds, “You are the Administrator of the city.”

“Indeed,” the little green lizard-gobliniod smiles, his eyes shining with pride.

  
  


In early April, Isaac’s heat hits in the middle of the night.

They aren’t in the heat room; they expected his heat to hit the next day.

Derek awakes as the scent hits his nose, and the sound of Isaac whimpering in need reaches his ears from where the omega’s nose and mouth are buried in Scott’s armpit. He pulls off Isaac’s diaper, which from the scent of it is only soaked in the slick from his heat induced arousal and slides the length of his already hard shaft into his mate’s needy hole.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you Issy,” he rumbles against his earlobe, nipping at the flesh. Scott stirs awake as he catches the scent of their mate’s need. He takes Isaac’s head in his hands and pulls their lips together, each of them moaning into the other with a deep satisfaction.

“Is our alpha taking good care of you?” Scott asks, pulling back from the kiss. At Isaac’s moan of agreement, he continues, “It feels good having his hard cock slide into you doesn’t, I know I like it. He knows how to hit the right spot and make us feel really good when he fucks us, doesn’t he?”

“Goddess yes, feels so good,” Isaac moans as he blindly searches for Scott’s mouth, his eyes closed in rapture, looking to regain the taste of his other mate.

The groan from Derek, and the sigh from Isaac, signals that Derek’s knot is pulling at the rim of Isaac’s ass with each thrust, closing in on the point of tying them together. With a final growl from Derek and the moan from Isaac as the omega sprays the bed and Scott with his release it’s clear that Derek’s knot has locked inside and he is filling his mate, sating his heat for now.

“Scott, run down to Ayo’s room, find out who was due to spend the first shift with us in the heat room and who is actually available given it has started early,” Derek commands.

“But…” Scott indicates his own neglected hard shaft.

“Scott, I need to carry him to the heat room, while we are still locked together before his heat rises again. Your cock can be taken care of later, now move.”

Scott scrambles from the bed and runs, naked, from the room as Derek rolls onto his back and, cradling Isaac against him, carefully rises from the bed. Taking the smallest of steps works his way to the door as he tries not to jostle his knot inside his mate too harshly.

  
  


In May Jacob formally requested to begin the Courtship to join the McCall-Hale pack, starting the process when the pack and the pack master accepted. In June, after Scott’s heat, he made the trip from New York to Beacon Hills to spend a weekend with the pack. In July he made the trip twice. Now it’s August and he’s moving permanently to Beacon Hills prior to starting his courses at the college. He’s going to be staying in the Sithen, in one of the cabins like Lydia and Allison, and Chris, Melissa, and John; being both separate from and a part of the Sithen.

The extended pack are in the larger den, they are discussing Jacob’s upcoming arrival and the non-related outstanding issues still to be resolved.

Stiles is sitting on one of the couches, Jackson and Danny on either side of him, and Aiden and Matt are sitting on the floor at his feet. Ayo is in an armchair next to Stiles.

Ethan is on the sofa opposite, with Derek, Scott, and Isaac sitting on Derek’s lap with his legs across Scott and his feet in Ethan’s lap. Ethan currently has Isaac’s feet in his hands as he gently massages them.

Melissa, Chris, and John are on the third large couch in the room.

Lydia and Allison sitting squeezed together in a large armchair.

Jordan is sitting in the love seat, with Liam in his lap and Mason sitting beside them.

Gabriel is in one of the wingback chairs, and Neasa in the other. Drazin has climbed onto an armchair.

The kids are running around anxious for their film night that Stiles promised to begin. They want to see Fellowship of the Ring that oma-Issy has been reading to them. Stiles made the mistake of saying he really likes the films, and so, even though everyone thinks the kids will either get bored or fall asleep through it, he has agreed they could watch – at least some of – the first film tonight.

“So,” Stiles begins, “Jacob arrives soon, and August is going to be his first full-moon with the pack…”

“Jaycub is go be in pack?!” Michael stops chasing Dermot and comes to a stop right in front of Stiles. At Stiles’ and Derek’s confirmation, Michael frowns and continues, “And run wif daddy an’ oma on fulmoon?” When Stiles and Derek confirm this, Michael has a meltdown.

“I wanna run wif daddy and oma on fulmoon!” he bawls, stomping his foot and his hands balling into fists that he flails up and down in the air, “New woof not awoud four me!”

“Michael Jensen McCall-Hale!” Scott roars, his eyes flashing silver at his eldest. All of the kids still, even Isaac and Ethan curl into themselves a little, “You will stop that right this minute.” Michael stands still, his hands limp at this side and his head drooped down with his chin on his chest, and tears in his eyes.

“No fair, new woof pway wif you on fulmoon!” the toddler defiantly states.

Scott moves from his place on the sofa to kneel in front of his son, he steals a frowning glance back at Derek before returning his full attention to the angry and upset beta toddler.

“Michael,” he places his hands on his son’s shoulders, “You know that your daddy and I love you very much, but you can’t go running with us on the full moon. You, your brother, and other siblings, and cousins are too small. You all play in the room in the Sithen where it’s safe for you. While all the bigger wolves go run outside because we need more space to run.”

“Exactly,” Derek adds, “Once you’re older and bigger, then you will get to run outside with us.”

“No fair!” Michael huffs.

“No kiddo, it’s not,” John adds, “But your alphas, who happen to be your parents, want to know you’re safe during the full moon.”

“It dayn ger us on fulmoon?” Lucas asks, his lower lip quivering.

“It… can be…” John haltingly starts.

“I no wan oma and daddy in dayn ger!” Lucas cries, standing stalk still with tears streaming down his face. The other kids all start following, running to their oma or daddy in tears wailing how they don’t want them in ‘day ger’.

It takes several minutes to calm the kids down. Trying to explain that there mostly isn’t any danger, and that when they are our running around on the full moon, they are checking that there is no danger in the preserve and that it is safe for everyone. And pointing out that when they are out running in the preserve there is none of the food or juice drinks that they have in the Sithen, and that they don’t get any until they come back, so, really, do they want to go running in the preserve in the dark or do they want to stay in the room in the Sithen to run around in and have food and juice? Most of the kids shouted for juice. Michael sullenly agreed, eventually.

With the drama over, Stiles suggested that Melissa, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Liam, Jackson, and Danny take the kids through to the TV and get them settled on the bean bags watching something while he finished his conversation with the rest.

“So, as I was saying,” Stiles begins trying to get everyone’s attention off the kids and the TV through the archway, “I had hoped by now we would have made some headway with the other things we’ve been dealing with. We still haven’t found any clue to where Anann’s sanctuary is, therefore, we’re no further forward with finding Éthur. We don’t know who performed the mind-whammy on Alpha Douglas at our meeting with the alphas…”

“No, not even your little spies have been able to uncover that,” his dad sighs.

“But they have been able to forewarn us about a lot of other potential problems that we’ve managed to head-off at the pass,” Parrish adds.

“True,” Stiles concurs, “They are definitely proving useful. And finally, there is no lead on the attacks and deaths of the members of the Vincent and Lopez packs. There’s been no attack since they moved into Beacon Hills, and I don’t know if that is good or bad. I still think that the ‘The Crows’ exist, but we’ve no evidence, and I think they would know where to find Tearmann an Bháis, Anann’s sanctuary.”

“Agreed,” Gabriel says, Neasa nodding her concurrence.

“I can’t say that I’m not glad things are quiet around here for once,” he dad sighs, “And it would be good to be able to close down these unanswered questions. But…”

“Sometimes we just have to wait for the answer to come to us, and sometimes they never do,” Chris finishes John’s sentence.

“Let’s join the kids and relax in front of the TV,” Stiles exhales, lamenting, “Who knows when things will blow up again.”

  
  


Jacob feels the adrenaline rush through him. His jaw practically aches with the grin that has been splitting his face all day and he can hardly stay still, constantly feeling the need to move, tap his toes, drum his fingers against… anything. Part of it is the anticipation of the full moon. Most of it is he is going to run with the McCall-Hale Pack.

He. Cannot. Wait.

It’s what he has been waiting for since he started courting the pack. He wanted to be prepared, so, he’s asked some of the others what sort of thing does the pack normally do on a full moon; when Alpha Scott, Jackson, Isaac, and Ethan are not in heat. The replies he got were all a variation of ‘whatever Master tells us’ and ‘sex’. Yeah. He. Cannot. Wait.

He’s showered twice since dinner, and he’s douched until the water ran clear, and made sure he was well prepared; stretched and lubed. As the pull of the moon rises, he makes his way across to main Sithen. He can’t wait until the courtship is over and he is officially part of the pack and living with them. The rest of the wolves in pack will be waiting for him in the main den, not the larger den the extended pack use, the one in the private residence.

As he enters the den the pack mates going on the run are already there, stripping out of their clothes or already naked.

Alpha Derek and Alpha-Omega Scott are naked. As is Aiden, though Aiden is usually naked; now though he doesn’t have his cock caged and is showing a solid length, only his collar is around his neck. Liam is naked and his ass is a deep red. Jordan is already out of his shirt and stripping out of his pants. Danny is unfastening Jackson’s bra. There’s no sign of Isaac and Ethan.

“So,” their master’s voice sounding behind him startles Jacob, “Isaac and Ethan as staying to help me keep the kids in check. After recent events I think we should rotate who stays to help with them rather than just me, Mrs Fizzlewig, Mrs Murphy, and Kwame.”

“Yes, though we are eventually going to have another problem,” Alpha Derek says, at their master’s raised eyebrow he continues, “We can’t have our kids join us on runs like this, so, when they are old enough, we’re going to have to come up with something else.”

“We’ve got years yet,” their master scoffs, “Wait, when do born werewolves normally join in the full moon runs? I mean like traditional full moon runs, not our nights of debauchery.”

“I went with the Campbell pack when I was twelve or thirteen,” Jacob answers.

“It’s usually when they hit puberty,” Derek adds.

“So, you’ve got ten years left of full moon sexcapades,” their master smiles, “Awesome.”

There are giggles and laughter through the now all naked pack.

“For tonight’s run I thought we’d make Jacob the centre of attention,” their master intones with a grin, “We’ll follow something we previously have done, with this and these,” he brings his hands from behind his back. In one is a ball, with bumps and nobbles covering the surface. In the other is a leather collar, with a strip leading down to a pair of wrist cuffs.

“Are you sure he can take that ball?” Alpha Derek asks.

“I’m sure I can get this ball firmly seated in his ass,” their master replies. Jacob can’t hide his immediately firmly interested reaction.

Later, laying in the warmth of the pack around him as the sun rises, Jacob feels more sated and content that he can ever recall. He’s drenched in the cum of his packmates and his alphas. He ass feels stretched and raw, but it hurts in a good way, though that ache is fading now that Alpha Derek has removed the ball and his healing has kicked in.

He had fun running through the preserve naked, the collar around his neck and his hands cuffed behind his back, the weight of the ball rocking back and forth as he ran, moving the toy to hit different spots in his ass and rub against his prostate. His cock was hard and bouncing around with every step he took as he ran between the trees, leaking his trail of precum that his pack so easily followed. As each packmate caught him he had to give them head, and they had to pull out and shoot their load over him. He only got to cum from the friction of the ball in his ass rubbing him up just right, which happened a couple of times. He got to cum again, more than once, after they got back, and with the ball removed first their master fucked him, then his alphas did.

Now he’s in the den, with his pack around him and covered in their loads he smells like pack. Nothing is gonna remove the smile from his face.

  
  


He feels her stalk towards him. Hears the click-clack-click-clack of her high-heeled boots against the stone floor. He can’t see, he can’t talk, and he can’t move from where he is laid out on the stone slab.

“Are you fretting my pet?” her words dripping with the same fake sweetness of the oil coating his body, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to use you tonight.”

He can’t hold back the sob that tries to work it’s way past the gag in his mouth; the need to be touched by the Fae pulling at his sanity and control making him want to feel her hands on him. But the small bit of rational thought left to him is grateful she doesn’t plan to use him. He knows there can be little of him left after all the times she has used him in the past. Used him to fuel her experiments with the wolves and cats; used him to create her Deaths.

“No my dear Éthur, Prince of Fire, of the Forest Court, son of King Cermait,” she whispers at his ear, her breath hot against his flesh, making him shiver in fear and need, “I need you well rested and strong. We were slain, but we are not gone,” the words confuse him, how can he feel their breath if she is slain?

“You see, pieces of our selves were placed in three trinkets, a mirror, a sword, and a ring. And with use, those pieces grow stronger, and when they are reunited, I will need every piece of your soul and power to pull us back together and retake our rightful place; The Morrigan, Queen of Air and Darkness of the Unseelie Court.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #### Excerpts from Chapter-01 of Na Déithe Cogaidh
> 
>   
“Ms Caldwell,” the reporters voice from the TV caught Chris’s attention and he looked up from the engine he was working on and stared at the TV, “There has been criticism of your organisation expanding into an area does not house any supernatural cre… persons. Don’t you think it would be better, safer even, for you to open your third refuge in another area?”  
“Mr Tucker,” the camera switches to Stacey’s face, Chris hasn’t seen her in over three years now except for the photo’s in the press. She’s made quite the name for herself, his ex-girlfriend, “Rose Garden Sanctuaries are a safe-haven for human and supernaturals alike. We do not discriminate against any gender, disability, age, ethnic origin, skin colour, nationality, sexuality, or religious belief. We offer refuge to all who need it…”  
“But, surely,” the reporter cuts in, “Given the attacks against other supernatural run businesses and those businesses that have served known supernatural cr… persons, you can see the concerns that neighbours of the building you have renovated for…”  
“Mr Tucker,” Chris recognises Stacey’s pissed-off face as she interrupts him, turning on that sweet smile of hers she says, “Do you smell the roses?” Tucker looks confused, “No, then I pity you, because I can smell the roses no matter where I am and I know that the Rose Garden Sanctuaries are safe, because I know we are watched over by the Triumvirate, and I know that the Goddess, the Consort, and Tighearnach protects us.” She rubs the ring on the third finger of her left hand.  
Chris feels the ring warm on his own finger. He used to wear it on a chain around his neck but moved it to his third finger left hand when they officially broke up. He knows his King is not gonna be pleased at what the press will take implied at her words.  
  

> 
> \------------------------------
> 
> A peel of thunder rolls loud and heavy over the night sky. The crack of the flash of lightning striking hard and fast down upon the ground.  
Greenburg sits bolt upright in his bed, his eyes wide and black. The words fall quickly from his tongue before he passes out.
> 
> “Anois teacht na Déithe Cogaidh; lig scaoilte ar an Domhan.”
> 
> _Translation: Now come the Gods of War; let loose on Earth._   


**Author's Note:**

>   

> 
> \---------------
> 
> There are several stories I am working on. So please comment if this is one that you like; comments help me focus when I'm being pulled in different directions by thoughts jumping from one story to another.


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